Pity for the Devil
by Maria Arnt
Summary: When Natasha is caught at the oldest profession by the village's vindictive women, they toss her down a pit to the Mad God. But she finds herself strangely drawn to Loki's madness, finding in its origins an all-too familiar pain. LokixNatasha AU, Clint comes in later. Horror/Erotica
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own Loki or the Avengers, but I'm also not making money on this. Rated M, so don't say I didn't warn you!_

Natasha plastered a coy smile on her face and braced herself for what she was about to do. Lars was not an unpleasant man to look at, and he had offered her a good price, but that didn't mean she was going to enjoy it. Not that he would know-that was why she was able to fetch such a good price-but she was beginning to tire of this life. At first, it had been exciting, more than a way to make ends meet, it was a subtle revenge on the women who had snubbed her out of the marketplace and into the back alleys. So they wouldn't buy her thread and yarn because she was prettier then they? Fine. Their husbands were more than happy to make up the difference.

Ever since she had come to this town, the last of her stolen funds expended on her escape from the horrors of her childhood, she had faced the ire of the hen coop-her nickname for the gossiping, middle-aged busybodies who subtly ran the town. She was young, beautiful, exotic, and the men had immediately noticed. The women had noticed the men noticing, and had immediately boycotted her small spinning stand.

Natasha found this especially frustrating since her original intent had been to make a little money and move on, hopefully to a large city where she could lose herself. But their vindictive behavior had trapped her with them, and she had little choice but to meet their expectations. The Spider, they called her when they thought she wasn't listening. The Spider spun her thread and wove her webs to entrance the men of the village. The first few men to approach her had been young daredevils, out to test their luck. They had been fun. But now that her reputation had spread among the men as well as the women, it was business as usual. It wasn't the nightmare she had come from, since she could pick and chose her patrons, but it wasn't the escape she had been looking for either.

Lars gave her a goofy smile and pulled off his shirt. His hair was left in a comical disarray, and she smiled at him. The husband of one of the head hens, he would be quite the feather in her cap, and if he gave her just a little extra tip, she just might be able to get out of this godforsaken town. She sauntered over to him, allowing the strap of her dress to drop casually off her shoulder. She splayed her hands over his furry chest, and bit her lip a little. She watched his eyes drop to her lips-so easy to make him look-and slowly, deliberately licked them.

Lars exhaled shakily, and bent forward the scarce inches to kiss her. Mentally, she braced herself.

Therefore, she jumped sharply when there was a loud rap at the door.

"Lars, open the door," came a man's booming voice. Great, the Patriarch had come for a late night visit. She glanced around the room, looking for a place to hide, when another voice came, chilling her to the bone.

"We know she's in there!" shouted one of the hen coop. If she listened carefully, Natasha could hear the sounds of several other people, horses, a few torches. It seemed the whole village had shown up for some late-night entertainment.

Natasha's heart began to race as she felt a fear she thought she had left long behind her. What would these superstitious backwater rubes _do_ to her?

Lars hesitated a moment, but when the Patriarch banged on the door more insistently, he jumped to answer it. Outside stood what must be the whole town, complete with pitchforks. This did not bode well.

"You see?!" shrieked the woman from before, as another woman, Lars's wife, let up an awful wail. "The Spider has bewitched another of our pious men!"

Several young men rushed forward to grab her arms. None of them, she noticed, were previous customers. One was a cruel boy she had turned down because he reminded her too much of home. He looked more than happy to participate in whatever they had planned for her. She was dragged out of the house into the cold night. They didn't even give her a chance to stand and walk with dignity, but pulled her along to the village green. Once there, she was pulled up on the wooden platform that served for county fairs, traveling actors and executions alike.

"My good people," The Patriarch's voice boomed out above the shouts of the rabble below him. "What is to be done with this sinner in our midst?"

Many cries came up from the crowd. "The punishment for Adultery is Death by Stoning!" one woman called. "No! She is a witch! Burn her at the stake!" shrieked another.

Only one woman stood calmly at the front, smiling up at them like the cat in the cream. Natasha could see she had been beautiful once, and so she had never feared Natasha as the other women had. Why should she? She was wife to the most powerful man in town.

The Patriarch smiled grimly down at his wife. "What say you, Freyda?"

The crowd hushed, Freyda was known for her vindictive and ironic punishments, which her husband often took up. "Well," Freyda said slowly, as if the idea was still occurring to her. "If she is a witch, or a curse sent to us, then I say we should send her back from whence she came."

There was a murmur of confusion in the crowd, but Freyda merely smiled at the horror in Natasha's eyes. How did she know?

"I say..." she drawled on, loving every moment of the drama, "That we give her to the mad god."

This time, the response was silence. The king of this small country may have declared his subjects Christian many years ago, but here they still followed the old ways. That the Patriarch had a wife was proof enough of this. He stood, stroking his beard, as he considered her proposal.

"In the old days," he said ponderously, "the traditional sacrifice was a young _virgin_," he glanced at her suggestive dress for emphasis.

"Things have changed," Freyda argued. "Why should our fine young girls go to him, when he sends us only bad luck and blizzards? I say let the devil feed on his own." There were cheers of agreement from the crowd.

What in the wide world were they talking about? Natasha wondered in her panic. Virgin sacrifices? The mad god? What kind of deformed monster were they sending her to?

The Patriarch continued to stroke his beard ponderously. It was his job to teach the king's religion to these yokels, but he was first and foremost a politician. "Let it be done," he said simply, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

She was pulled off the platform and hoisted onto the shoulders of the crowd. They marched out of the village, the torchlight gleaming in their eyes, making them look inhuman. Would none of them stand up for her? Surely Jahn, who had called on her several times and often brought her small gifts as well as tipping her heavily, would say something in her defense? But she caught sight of him, sheepishly trailing after the crowd. He had liked her because he was too shy to speak with women. Natasha had sought to break the ice, but she had not made a hero of him.

Unbidden the thought of Clint came to mind. She had run into the roving archer more than once. Were he there, he would have come to her rescue, again. But Clint had never been able to understand what she was running from. He had looked beyond her past, and thought she could have a normal life with him. A house, a farm maybe, with a pack of dogs and almost as many babies. But he had never understood that normal was never an option for her, that she didn't want to be someone's wife, she wanted something more for herself, even if she didn't deserve it.

But Clint was not here, she had run away from him as she ran from everything else. Whatever horror these mean little people had in store for her, she would have to face it alone. She swore to herself that she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear, or hearing her scream.

A few miles out of town, they came to the mouth of a large cave. Natasha remembered now that it was believed to be haunted, and that young men dared each other to climb down it's bottomless shaft. As far as she knew, none of them had even tried.

The crowd halted at the entrance of the cave, and Natasha could smell the fear in them. The old ways were not so very old after all, and she wondered how many of them had heard stories of some great-great aunt, lost to the barbaric ways of the past. She was dropped to the ground, and the Patriarch loomed up in front of her.

"My child," he said, not unkindly. "If you confess your sins and repent now, you will be spared your punishment. The Lord is forgiving."  
Natasha looked up at the Patriarch. In his eyes, all she saw was lust. He sought to keep her for himself. She would not go back to that. She spat in his face.

"So be it," he hissed, and gestured towards the cave.

Some of the braver young men rushed forward, the cruel boy among them. The dragged her inside, and in the torchlight she glimpsed frightening paintings of wolves and snakes along the walls. A stone's throw within, they came to the edge of the pit. One of the boys leaned over, holding a torch out to see if he could glimpse the bottom. Natasha looked too, she could see nothing.

The cruel boy picked up a pebble, grinning at her. He tossed it over the edge, and they waited, holding their breath. She could hear it bounce against the walls a couple times, then nothing.

Behind them, the crowd began to chant something, quietly at first, and then rising in ferocity. The word ran into itself so that Natasha could not understand it, but it sounded harsh, all Ls and Ks, ending in a high I. She tried to swallow, her throat dry. She would not scream, she would not scream, she would not-

The cruel boy shoved her in, and for the first moment she was too shocked to respond. Then, as she continued to fall, on and on, the scream was torn from her throat unbidden. She screamed until her throat was raw, and on she fell, the chanting of the crowd following her down into the abyss.  
Just when her terror reached a point where thinking stopped, she was suddenly engulfed in cold, and quiet, and the blackness swallowed her whole.

_**A/N:** __I am writing this story for fun. I've never written horror before, and mostly it's an outlet for my other story, Anima Complex, taking too long to get to the good parts. There probably won't be a regular update schedule for this story, it will just get updated when it gets written. It will probably also be much shorter than Anima Complex. Hope you enjoy it!_


	2. Chapter 2

_I don't own Loki, Natasha or Clint. Just having fun with them._

Natasha was unsure when she regained consciousness, because when she came to, she could see nothing except a faint light from high above. She knew it was the entrance to the cave, because she could hear a quiet whisper that was the echo of their chanting coming from the same direction. She found she could not move much, as most of her body was trapped in a thick, cold, glutinous substance. She tried hard not to panic.

She stilled as she heard a rustling sound close by, almost lost in the echoes. A snake? The sound was followed by another, a low, gravelly growl. She strained to see what it was behind her, and out of the very corner of her eye she caught a hint of green, glowing eyes, like those of a starving wolf at the edge of the forest.

She was not a superstitious woman, but she had seen enough of the world to know there were many unimagined things in it. Right now, she almost hoped it was a wolf, for then it would be over soon. But something, perhaps the way her skin crawled, told her that she was not so lucky as that.

Slowly she realized that the cold gelatinous muck she had landed in was drawing away from her, or perhaps she was rising, it was hard to tell without a frame of reference. The eyes blinked, moving to face her more fully, and there seemed something almost... human about them.

"Who is there?" she asked, her voice rough and shaky from screaming.

She was rewarded with an incredulous chuckle. "Don't you know?" a man's voice, tenor and strangely accented, drifted to her from the darkness. It bounced around the walls of the cave, until she was unsure where it came from. The eyes continued to study her, and they no longer blinked.

She shook her head, unsure how well she could be seen. "I come from another place, far away."

"As do I," there was another chuckle, but it sounded somehow melancholy. "Why are you here?" he sounded curious.

Natasha rubbed at her sore throat. "Sacrifice?" she suggested.

"Well yes, obviously," the eyes came closer and she felt long, slender, cold fingers take a gentle grip on her chin. "But you are not the usual fare, and it has been many years since they have seen fit to pay me heed. They follow a new god now."

Natasha tried to make out his face in the darkness, but she could not. All she could see were the two green orbs, which suddenly seemed to draw her in, mesmerizing her. She felt herself becoming lost in them, until suddenly she began remembering things, first how the villagers had thrown her in the cave, then the impromptu trial in the village square, then meeting with Lars, other men before that, coming to the village, her last meeting with Clint, and so on backwards until she began to remember the day she ran away.

She shook her head and closed her eyes, breaking away from his spell and his grip. She did not want to remember that.

"How very intriguing," the voice behind the green eyes muttered. She was about to ask what he meant when the sound of many wolves howling surrounded them. It dragged on for a long moment, sending a shiver up her spine. Once it had ended, it echoed and bounced on up the walls of the pit. The chanting from above stopped, and she could hear the sounds of the villagers leaving.

"What was that?" she asked.

"It means that I have accepted the sacrifice. I cannot think with that incessant noise." He seemed to study her a moment longer, and she started to squirm.

Suddenly he blinked and seemed to step back a bit. "Forgive my manners," he said, and from the dip in his eyes she could tell he had bowed. "It is a long time since I have had company."

All around them, torches flared to life, and she jumped, staring up at them. They revealed a long tunnel in the stone before her, and a black, mirror-like surface beneath her bare feet.

"It's what caught you. Couldn't have the sacrifices dying before I get to them could I?"

She looked up, slowly, unsure what kind of monster she would see. Instead, she saw a man. A handsome man at that, albeit deathly pale and a little thin. The thinness only served to accent his high, sharp cheekbones, and his pale skin contrasted well with his green eyes. His midnight-dark hair swept back from his forehead and hung to his shoulders, flipping up in what looked like a wind-tossed mess. He continued to study her with a wolfish grin, but she could tell it was her reaction he was watching for.

She dropped her eyes to study his clothes, a long dark green cloak with gold embroidery and studded with green gems. Polished leather boots peeked out from below. Well he was certainly _dressed_ like a god, she thought, rubbing her arms to keep warm.

"You must be cold," he said, almost kindly, and suddenly there was a fur cloak in his hands. He wrapped it around her shoulders, and she ran a hand across the fur, trying to guess what it was. _Wolf_, she realized. She glanced up to find him studying her again. She dropped her gaze, not wanting to fall back under his spell.

"Come," he held out a hand, and she took it. It was freezing. "It seems I must... _initiate_ you into my mysteries." he smiled as if it were a joke, and began leading her down the stone tunnel. There were many twists and turns, and Natasha despaired of ever finding her way out**.**

At last they came to a grand cavern. It was dark as they approached, but once they entered torches sprang to life and a great roaring fire lit up an enormous fireplace at the far end. There was a throne next to it, and a great table that filled with food as she watched. She stared at it all with wide eyes, turning to take in the otherworldly beauty of it. As she came full circle, her gaze fell again on the man with the green eyes. He was smiling again.

"This is incredible!" she laughed.

"Always nice to have someone appreciate your work," he said cockily.

"You _made_ this?"

He shrugged, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against. "If I am to be trapped here for all eternity, I might as well enjoy it."

She frowned at him. "Who _are_ you?"

"Again my manners fail me. I should have introduced myself. I," he gave a low, flourishing bow, coming up grinning, "am the mad god, Loki.**"**

_**A/N:**__ I had a lot of fun coming up with the characterization for Loki in this story. While he mostly looks like Hiddlesloki (from the movie) he has a couple aspects of his comic book form, including looking a little less polished and the black fingernails. As for his personality, he's part Hiddlesloki, part comic book Loki (who is a MUCH bigger jerk), part Phantom of the Opera, part Beast from Beauty and the Beast, and a teensy bit Sheogorath from Oblivion. That part makes him really fun to write, but it can get annoying when I'm trying to write sexy bits. And yes, there are sexy bits coming up very soon._


	3. Chapter 3

_I don't own Loki, Natasha or Clint, just having fun with them._

Natasha stared at Loki. The name meant nothing to her, but it seemed to mean much to him.

"Natasha Romanova," she muttered in response, and bobbed a quick curtsy.

"Natasha," he repeated slowly, as if relishing the word. "You _are_ from far away, aren't you?" He gestured towards a seat at the table. "You must be hungry. Please, eat."

She had never been too proud to turn down free food, so she sat graciously and began filling a plate. Loki sat next to her, at the head of the table, and watched her with curiosity and amusement.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, noticing he made no move to fill his own plate.

He reached out and filled a goblet with a light amber liquid. "I do not need to eat, but I shall if you like." He took a small pheasant and a few roasted roots onto his plate.

Just before she took her first bite, she remembered all the folk stories the girls had whispered to each other when she was young. Stories of the world of spirits, beneath the ground. If you ate their food, the girls had said, you would never return to the world above. Another girl, sold to pay her aristocratic uncle's debts when she was orphaned, had told them old Greek myths. Persephone, daughter of the goddess Demeter, had been kidnapped by Hades, god of the underworld. When her mother came to save her, it was found that she had eaten three tiny seeds, and could only return for a short time.

Natasha stared down at the steaming meal before her, and glanced over at Loki. He took a big bite of a pheasant leg. "It's not poisoned," he said less than encouragingly.

She looked back at the food. What was waiting for her up above, anyway? She began to eat, politely at first, but before long she was tearing into it. It seemed like forever since she had a hot meal.

Loki gave her an amused smirk, and she blushed. "Oh, don't worry," he reached forward and poured her a goblet of the amber liquid too. "I like a woman with a good appetite," he laughed.

She couldn't tell if he was making fun of her or not. She took the goblet and sipped. It tasted like wine, only sweeter. "It's good," she said. "What is it?"

"When I was thrown into this..." he gestured elegantly to their surroundings, "prison, the men of this world called it meodu. It is made from honey."

"Mead?" she set the goblet down, picking up a wing and taking a timid bite.

Loki nodded and continued to watch her. She set the wing down.

"You know, it's a little difficult to eat with you staring at me," she said, a little irritated.

He laughed. "Forgive me, I am merely trying to discern what you expect of me."

"What I... expect... of you?" She was confused.

"Yes," he took another long drink from his goblet, staring into the fireplace. "I was not always the mad god, you know," he mused. "Once, I was held in high honor as a son of Odin. It was a lie, of course, but still. I tried... to make something more of myself, to rise above the other gods, who were brutish and loved war. But alas," he set the goblet down, a bitter grimace on his face, "I was unsuccessful, and here I am. And since then I have learned that it is much, much easier to merely follow the expectations that others place upon you."

Natasha stared down at her hands, far too familiar with what he spoke of. Every town she came to, she had tried to start a new life, only to find herself on her back within the month. "Well I have never met a god," she said instead, "I don't know what to expect."

Loki chuckled. "No, I suppose not. They have all gone back to Asgard, leaving me behind. Pushed out of the hearts of men by this new god, this One God, who for all his talk of peace and love, has made humans even more petty and violent than before."

Natasha had never considered herself a religious person; when you were raised in sin there didn't seem to be much point. "Well, what do most people expect?" she suggested.

He leaned back in the ornately carved chair, biting a fingertip as he thought. She noticed his fingernails were black and shiny. "Well, most of them expect violence. And I oblige, of course," he added quickly, gleefully. "I mean, who am I to disappoint them? Some of them had brilliant imaginations when it came to torture..." he trailed off as if recollecting a fond memory.

Natasha squirmed uncomfortably in her seat.

"A few thought they could make a deal with me," he said slyly. "They were far more entertaining. Although, of course, they all met horrible deaths, too."

"Why?" Natasha asked, horrified but fascinated.

"As I said before, it's what they_ expect_. You don't sell your soul to the devil and then live happily ever after," he laughed. "You must get your... What is the phrase? Comeuppance."

Natasha took a long drink of mead. She was beginning to see why he was called the mad god. "Well," she said slowly, looking for a way out, "Perhaps if I don't know what to expect from you, you should just do as you like."

He stared at her a moment, frowning. Then his eyebrows shot up. "Ah." He chuckled. "Aha. So, you don't know what to expect of me as a god, but you know_ exactly_ what to expect of me as a man."

She shrugged, a gesture she knew drew attention to her long thin neck and graceful collarbones. He studied her a moment, looking serious and thoughtful. He reached out and picked up a long, red curl of her hair. She managed not to flinch.

"You know," he said quietly, staring down at her hair as he twined it around his finger. He glanced up, his green eyes boring into hers. "I think I shall take you up on that." He dropped the curl, and it seemed to float back down like a feather.

Suddenly his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. He stood quickly, his heavy chair shooting backwards a couple feet. He jerked her wrist upward, pulling her to her feet, and she cried out in surprise. Without responding, he began walking quickly and determinedly down another passageway. She struggled to keep up with him, her heart racing.

"Where are we going?" she gasped.

He stopped so suddenly she actually ran into him. "Oh, you know where we're going," his voice was low and dangerous as he turned to face her. He studied her face a moment, his breath coming as quickly as hers. "You honestly enjoy this, don't you?"

His voice was filled with curiosity, not reproach, but she blushed anyway, turning away from his scrutiny. "It's the only kind of love I've ever known," she whispered angrily. She remembered Clint, who had said he loved her, _thought_ he loved her, but he didn't really know her.

"This is not _love_, silly girl!" Now his voice was full of scorn, and she looked back at him, surprised. "Love is nothing more than two people lying to each other and themselves. This," he smiled, shaking his head, "this is much better than _love_," he spat the last word out as though it were a bad taste in his mouth.

Natasha could not help but be entranced by the truth in his madness. "Why?" she breathed.

"Because," his voice was low and soft, and he took a step towards her. She tried to back away, but found a wall behind her. He came closer, putting his hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her. Closer, until his face was inches from hers and she was afraid she might fall into the emerald pools of his eyes again. "Here there are no lies, nothing to hide behind. You are exposed, vulnerable, and there is nothing,_ nothing_ between you and I except your deepest, darkest desires."

Natasha felt heat began to pool low in her belly, and found that she was now the one staring at his mouth, waiting, waiting for him to kiss her. He leaned in...

And suddenly the wall gave in behind her, and she fell backwards onto the floor. Loki laughed uproariously, and she looked up to see that she had fallen through a door. She could swear there hadn't been a door there. "That was cruel!" she pouted.

He giggled a little. "Yes it was," he agreed.

She continued to frown at him until a confused look crossed his face. "Sorry," he held out a hand and helped her to her feet. "As I said, it has been a long time since I had company, and even longer than that since the worst was not expected of me." he stared off into space over her shoulder. "A very long time."

Natasha saw in his face a depth of pain and sorrow the likes of which she had not seen since she left the other girls behind. She knew now why he was mad. To live with that, forever? Alone? She would go mad too.

"Loki," she said softly, fingering the collar of his elaborate cloak.

He dragged himself back from his memories, surprised to hear his name spoken thusly. "Yes?"

"Kiss me," she said simply.

The sly grin returned to his lips as he leaned in to comply.

_**A/N:**__ See what I mean about him getting in the way of the sexy bits? *sigh* Well things will go better next chapter, I promise._


	4. Chapter 4

_I don't own Loki, Natasha, or Clint. Just having fun with them._

Natasha shivered as Loki kissed her. His lips were as cold as his hands, even his breath was cold as it fanned against her face, raising the hairs on her arms. She considered herself a good actress, but she didn't know if she could service a man who was colder than a corpse. She shuddered.

"What's wrong?" Loki pulled back, obviously unhappy with her response.

"You're so c-cold," she stuttered, her teeth beginning to chatter.

He stepped back from her. "Ah, yes." He stared at his hand a moment, as if it were fascinating. "My mistake." He reached out and touched her face, and this time his fingers were hot, as though he burned with fever. He ran his thumb over her lips before burying his hand in the hair at the back of her neck. His other hand pressed against the small of her back, pushing her against him, and she could feel the heat of him through their clothes.

"Better?" he murmured before kissing her again.

She moaned as the heat of him seeped into her, collecting in interesting places. "Yes," she breathed.

Hey toyed with the clasp of the wolf-fur cloak he had given her. "I had forgotten the tender delicacies of mortal flesh," he murmured. He flipped the clasp, allowing the cloak to fall to the floor and pool at her feet. He glanced down and then tutted.

He stepped back, and began to pace around her. This gave her the first opportunity to examine the room, as he examined her clothes. There was another fireplace, more modest in scale, as well as a couple of low couches and the most enormous, elaborate canopied bed she had ever seen.

"Hmm..." Loki mused as he came back around to face her. "This will never do." He snapped his fingers, and suddenly her short tattered dress was replaced with a long green gown made of indescribably soft, thin material.

"There, much better," he smiled at his handiwork, and then strode past her. "What do you think?"

Natasha turned to see him pull aside a heavy velvet drape and tuck it behind the elaborate gilt frame of a tall mirror. At first she was astounded by the mirror-it was taller even than Loki-but then she noticed her reflection. The dress she wore had a very deep V neckline, exposing all of her cleavage. Somehow, without boning or lacing, it clung to her figure like a second skin down to her hips, where it fell in rippling waves to her feet. The way it hung made it look heavy, but it was lighter than a feather. She turned around to see the back, and the skirt floated outwards diaphanously. In the back, two thin cords connected the sides of a swoop that dropped to show the small of her back. Thin golden chains looped around her arms and met in the front at an oval emerald cabochon. Delicately filigreed gold cuffs encircled her wrists, and her nails had been painted a shimmering green.

She stood speechless, staring at the vision of herself in the mirror. Even her hair had changed, freshly washed and caught up in a gold fillet so all the curls spilled over one shoulder. She tore her gaze away from her reflection, noticing the look of concern on Loki's face.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No!" she turned to face him. "It's just... I've never seen anything like it. It's beautiful!"

He chuckled, relieved, and stepped towards her. He brushed a hand over her hip, and she could feel the heat of his fingers so clearly through the slick material she might as well have been naked. "I think," he murmured in her hair, "that it will look even better on the floor."

She laughed at his joke, surprised at how candid he was. Most men at least pretended to appreciate a well-dressed woman, but she knew the truth.

She took his hand and led him the few steps to the bed, relishing the way the dress swished around her legs. She was almost, almost sad that she would have to take it off shortly.

"You can put it on again afterwards," he appeased her.

She tilted her head, exposing the side of her neck. "Are you reading my mind?"

His fingertips drifted along the exposed skin, and he licked his lips as he dared to skim lower. "No. I can only vaguely sense what you are thinking or feeling at the moment."

"What about earlier?" she asked, before gasping softly as his finger traced the neckline of her gown.

"Just a simple memory spell," he answered absently. "I did not see what you saw, only felt what you felt, until you kicked me out." At this his gaze stopped following the path of his fingers and flicked up to meet hers. "Not something many can do, mind you."

Natasha did not want to discuss her past, not now. She slid onto the bed, kneeling before him. "I think you'll find," she brushed her lower lip against his, "That I have many talents."

Loki's eyes flashed, and she knew that she had him.

She found the clasps for his cloak, wrought in gold and emeralds. She undid them, and slid the cloak off his shoulders, revealing a simple green tunic and black kidskin pants beneath. The cloak vanished before it hit the floor, and he moved to join her on the bed, kneeling before her. He held her by the shoulders at arm's length and swept his eyes down her figure.

"Where to begin?" he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Natasha tried very hard not to think about what she expected of him. Their earlier conversation hinted that he might be a harsh lover, and she had more than her fill of such men. Just this once, she thought, I wish that he would see something more than just a good time. She swallowed hard, pushing such useless thoughts away.

Loki's attention was drawn to her throat, and he seemed to decide that was as good a place to start as any. He drew her toward him, cradling the back of her head with one hand as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. He began to trail small kisses down the length of it, before dragging the tip of his tongue back up, ending just behind her ear.

She moaned, surprising herself. It had been a long time-not since Clint-since she had genuinely responded to a man's touch, but he seemed to know just what buttons to push. He surprised her even more as he bit down, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to elicit a gasp. Her heart lept into her throat as she remembered stories of vampires, living deep beneath the ground and drawing in unsuspecting prey.

He drew away suddenly, laughing. "Oh, Natasha," he fiddled with her hair, the golden chains. "You have such an imagination. Why is it that you see everything around you as a threat?" his eyes turned serious as he asked the last.

Natasha bit her lip, knowing that this time she wouldn't get away without answering. She found his curiosity flattering, but she would just rather not remember. "Because," she said at last, shrugging, "That's how I survived."

Loki seemed to sense her reluctance to continue. "Such a beautiful puzzle," he sighed. He reached forward and began to slide the golden chains off her arms, freeing her of them. "Trust me, Natasha," he whispered.

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he chuckled.

"I could always make you trust me, you know, but that wouldn't be half so much fun. I swear to you, though, that as long as you stay here of your own free will, no harm will come to you." He brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek.

Natasha could tell he was telling the truth, but she also caught the implication that his offer only stood as long as she did not try to escape. Had she traded one nightmarish prison for another?

Loki misread her hesitation. "I give you my word," he said solemnly, and she could tell, unlike some men, that actually meant something to him.

She knew that she shouldn't give in to him, that to do so was to lose herself in the bargain, but she couldn't resist. There was something about him that drew her in, some strange, broken camaraderie between them.

He held out his hand, and slowly, hesitantly, she slid hers into it. He took a firm grip, and raised it to his lips. He closed his eyes, and for a moment she could see how much her trust meant to him. He glanced back up at her grinned slowly. "I promise," he whispered as he laid her back on the bed, "You won't regret it."

_**A/N:**__ That's all for now, folks. But I am having WAY too much fun writing this story, so you can be sure there will me more soon!_

_P.S. To all you Twilight fans writing Loki fics out there... making out with a cold dude is NOT sexy, it's gross. Please stop turning him into a cold sparkly dude. He's smart enough to know better than to make out with a girl while in his frost giant form. Seriously. You know who you are._


	5. Chapter 5

Natasha stared up at the bed canopy as Loki returned his attentions to her neck. He kissed the underside of her chin, and then lowered to swirl his tongue in the notch where her collarbones met. She gasped a little at the unexpected sensation, but Loki quickly moved on, trailing his fingers along her collarbone, and following that with soft kisses. He nibbled her shoulder a little, and then ran his hands down her arm.

At this point, Natasha was a little confused. "What are you doing?" she asked.

He sat up, straddling her. "Well," he picked up her arm and ran his fingernails down it lightly. She jumped at the sensation when he reached the crook of her elbow. "If I am to set forth and conquer a new and foreign land," he smiled at her reaction, and bent to lick the sensitive spot. This time her reaction was stronger, and her back arched reflexively, pressing her hips up towards him. "I must first make a map," he finished.

It took her a moment to string his words together, distracted as she was by his methodical attentions. He had now found the thin skin of her wrist, and dragged his teeth across it slowly. A small sound escaped from her throat, and he smiled in triumph. She understood then that he sought to find every secret her body held, secrets not even she knew.

Natasha was caught between terror and lust at the idea. His jest of conquering her held its own truth-if she let someone know that much of her, what could they _do_ to her? She did not know. Her heart began to pound as Loki drew first one finger, then another, into his mouth and lavished them with his tongue. His hand on her wrist stilled, catching the faint echoes of her pulse. His eyes became hooded and she thought she heard a low, soft growl escape his lips.

He laid her arm down softly, and returned to the notch at the base of her neck. He shifted, stretching his body out against hers before drifting his attention lower, to the small hard plane of her sternum. A hand rose to cup her breast, hot and hard through the slick material. She moaned and arched into his touch, and he took advantage, sliding a hand under her and loosening the small gold disk that connected the two cords which held the back of her dress together. His kisses drifted to the side, over the upper swell of her breast, his hand releasing her to brush the fabric of her dress aside and off her shoulder.

_If he goes much slower_, Natasha thought,_ I shall go mad, too_. She wound her fingers in his hair, seeking to guide him to what she wanted.

Loki chuckled, his hot breath fanning out over her exposed skin. "Patience, my pet. We have all the time in the world." He shifted, nibbling the underside of her breast, eliciting a strangled whimper from her. "You see? The best places are sometimes hidden in plain sight."

He continued on this way, torturing her with his patience, moving ever lower and pushing her dress out of the way as he went. He found what he was looking for just below the arch of her ribs, the hollow just beside her hip. He sat up and pulled the dress the rest of the way off her, the exquisite texture a sensual caress in itself.

Natasha licked her lips, anticipating what would come next. But instead, Loki skipped the obvious again, sliding his hands down her legs. She whined, frustrated.

"Oh hush," Loki chided, picking up her foot. "Any half-wit could find _that_."

She laughed. "Oh, you would be surprised," she smiled wryly.

"Hmm..." Loki ran his fingernail quickly along the bottom of her foot, and she jumped in response. "Again my faith in mortal men is shaken."

Natasha had a witty response to that, but she lost it, along with any coherent thoughts, when Loki's lips closed around her toes. "Ah!" she cried out, clutching the bed sheets and trying to pull her foot away from him.

Loki seemed genuinely amused by this. "You didn't know?" he said in a lilting, mocking voice. He caught her other foot, and brought it to his mouth, darting his tongue between her toes as his nimble fingers kneaded the arch.

She writhed, overwhelmed that something so _strange_ could have such an effect on her. She was almost relieved when he gently lowered her foot back to the bed. Surely he was done now, as he had explored every inch of her-except the obvious ones-from head to toe. She frowned, intrigued, as he crossed one hand over the other to grasp her ankles. He looked up at her expression, and grinned.

Suddenly he pulled his arms away from each other. In an instant she found herself on her stomach, spread eagle. She cried out a little in surprise, grabbing hold of the pillows. Loki's chuckle was low and soft. As he made his way up the back of her legs, she could feel his breath quicken with each new secret place he found. Perhaps he was not so patient as he let on? Natasha smiled against the pillow, then groaned as he took firm hold of her pert backside with both hands. He kneaded a moment, and then one hand drifted down her inner thigh. She gasped as he slid a finger into her, already wet from his teasing. But she had only a moment's pleasure before he withdrew and drifted higher...

Every muscle in Natasha's body clenched up. She would have slammed her legs shut, if Loki hadn't been kneeling between them. To his credit, Loki left off what he was doing immediately. "Hmmm..." he sounded more concerned than playful. "Not that, then?"

Natasha buried her face in her pillow, trying to bury the memories. "No. Not ever." Loki was silent for a moment, and she wondered what he must be thinking.

At long last he sighed heavily, moving his knees to either side of her, allowing her to press her legs together. "A pity... you were so deliciously _pliant_ a moment ago." He took hold of her hips, lingering there a moment before sliding his hands up and onto her shoulder blades. He dug in his fingertips, and dragged down slowly.

It felt like he was pouring heat into her, and Natasha groaned as her muscles slowly unwound. His nimble fingers worked their magic until she was a puddle of bliss. It felt, strangely, like an apology. As she relaxed, he lightened the pressure of his hands, ghosting them down over her skin, and back up the sides, barely brushing the sides of her breasts. Where his hands passed, her skin was left puckered with goosebumps, and she sighed, pressing her hips into the bed.

"That's better," he murmured, and only then did he begin pressing kisses into the small of her back, working his way up her spine. He released her hair from the fillet, brushing it aside so he could draw his tongue up the back of her neck. She shuddered, her breath quickening. "You like that?" Loki's voice was low and rough, and somehow hopeful.

"Mmmm..." she agreed, wriggling her backside up against him.

Slowly, as if he were afraid to startle her, Loki bit the back of her neck, deep and firmly, his tongue tracing circles within.

Natasha gasped in surprise, but then moaned loudly. This was the best spot he had found so far, and he seemed to respond as well, gripping her upper arms tightly. After a long moment, Loki released her, panting. She tilted her head to the side, trying to catch sight of his expression. He pressed a few kisses against her cheekbone. "Oh Natasha," she wasn't sure if he chuckled or growled. "It pleases me _greatly_ that you like that."

"I should like to please you," she pouted, "If you would give me a chance." She wriggled beneath him, and she could tell from his body pressed against her that she was not the only one he had been teasing.

This time he did laugh, although it was a bit breathless. "That wasn't so bad was it?" he joked, moving off of her so she could roll over. "And now," he drew a finger down her sternum, between her breasts, around her navel and paused just above the auburn curls, "I can play you like the exquisite instrument you are."

She allowed herself a moment to enjoy the sensation, then made her move. She swung a leg over and straddled him, gaining the upper hand. He seemed delighted by this change of events, and watched her with amusement as she quickly rid him of his belt and slid his tunic up over his head. The black cambric shirt beneath sighed open at her touch, and she brushed it aside, smoothing her hands over the smooth planes of his chest.

Despite his thinness, he was revealed to have a fit, wiry physique. He was quite possibly the handsomest man she had ever seen, although he was so unlike any other it was hard to say. On his chest she found several pale scars, which she traced with a curious finger but did not ask. She would not pry into his past in the hopes that he would return the favor.

Instead her hand wandered lower, and he groaned as she found him hard and straining against the ties of his pants. She undid them, loosening the laces and slid a hand inside. He drew his breath in between his teeth, cursing softly and pressing his head back into the pillow.

"I like the obvious places," she said flippantly. "They're so much more... efficient."

This time she was sure he growled, grabbing her wrist before tipping her over on her back. It was immediately obvious to her that his pants and boots had vanished like his cloak before, and her breath hitched at the feel of his hot skin pressed against hers.

"I have half a mind to show you the meaning of _efficient_," he bucked his hips against her to emphasize his point. He shifted to enter her, and for a moment she thought she had won. But instead he took her slowly, agonizingly so, inch by inch, and she fought the urge to beg him for more. Once he had sheathed himself to the hilt, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, breathing shakily.

Natasha would have smacked him if she had a hand free, but he had pinned her arms against her body. She found if she turned her head she could reach his ear, so she licked it, nibbling the lobe and then sucking on it.

Loki gasped, and she could feel him jolt inside her. By pure luck it seemed she had stumbled upon one of _his_ sensitive spots, and she used it to her fullest advantage. As she drew her tongue around the edge of the shell, she could feel his control slipping, his grip on her loosening. She dipped her tongue inside, and he groaned, going slack.

She took her moment, and flipped_ him_ on his back. Before he could object she began to ride him, raising and lowering her hips at a frantic pace. Loki cursed and grabbed her hips, but he did not try to stop her. Instead he urged her on. She looked up to catch his expression, and found his emerald eyes burning into her paler mint ones. She bit her lip, feeling herself draw closer to the end, and he smirked, thrusting his hips upward and sending her over the edge without further warning.

His hands slid up her back as she fell forward, gasping for air. His breathing and pace became unsteady as well, and after a few more strokes he arched up against her, groaning and clutching her to him tightly.

They lay like that a moment, trying to catch their breath. Natasha straightened out her legs and lay her head against his shoulder, relishing the feeling of him still inside her. As his breath slowed, Loki took hold of her chin and tilted it up to look into her eyes.

"You," he ground out, "are in trouble for that."

She merely raised an eyebrow at him. It was like playing with fire, only twice as fun.

He sighed deeply. "But. The hour is late and you need your rest."

She reluctantly pulled away from him, admitting to herself that she was very tired. He tucked her into his side, her head resting against his shoulder. Sheets and furs materialized above them, warm and soft.

"Sleep," he commanded, and for once she didn't feel like arguing.


	6. Chapter 6

_I don't own Loki or Natasha, but I'm also not making money on this._

Natasha woke, confused for a moment as to where she was. She was alone in the enormous bed, her legs tangled in the sheets and furs. The drapes had been pulled, and a sliver of light slipped through between them and crossed her face. She squinted at it. It was unexpectedly bright, like sunlight, and she wondered how such a thing would find them down here.

She drew one of the furs around her tightly-it was cold-and peeked between the curtains, not wanting to lose any of the heat they trapped. What she saw stopped her short.

The light was sunlight. The mirror she had admired herself in the night before had suddenly turned to a window, a portal, to another place. A snowy morning vista could be seen beyond it, a square with a brightly colored, onion-domed church. It must be very early, as no people bustled about the square.

Before the unexpected vision stood Loki. He hadn't bothered to dress, and his back-lit nude form was a sight to behold. If she'd had a shred of innocence left to her, Natasha might have blushed. He seemed to be studying the scene before him intently, hands on his hips.

Swallowing and gathering her wits, Natasha shrugged the fur up higher on her shoulders and stepped from the relative warmth of the bed. It was _freezing_ in here, and she noticed little flakes of snow drifting through the golden frame to the floor at Loki's feet. She walked towards him, quietly, and rested her fingertips on his shoulder blade. He was even colder than the room, and his skin had a bluish tinge to it.

At first she thought he hadn't noticed her touch, his features remaining motionless, but then he spoke. "This was your home?" he asked, turning his head the slightest angle towards her.

She looked out at the beautiful image. "No. I think that's St. Petersburg. I came from further East, and South. A place called Moscow."

Loki frowned, and gestured towards the image before them. "A pity. It's charming."

Natasha took a moment to process his underwhelming assessment of her homeland's finest architecture. She shrugged it off. "I was never allowed out during the day, so I wouldn't have seen it anyway."

He turned toward her, his frown deepening. She tried hard to keep her eyes on his face, and failed. She glanced down, and felt her eyebrows creep up her forehead as she pointedly looked away.

His frown melted at her expression and he grinned. "The cold has never bothered me much," he said almost apologetically. There was a flicker of something in his face as he noticed how tightly she held the fur to herself. He waved a hand behind him absently, and the vision disappeared, once more a mirror. A fire sprang to life in the fireplace, and she watched as a flush of color lit his skin, starting from his fingertips and spreading over him.

He slid his hands under the fur, and she was surprised to find them blissfully warm. "Did you sleep well?" he murmured into her hair, his breath hot on her neck.

She wasn't sure if it was the change in temperature or in his attitude which surprised her more. "Yes," she answered automatically, and then realized it was true. She felt better rested than she had... than she had perhaps ever been. It occurred to her that here she felt safe from everything that had been chasing her. True, Loki was an unmeasured danger, but for now at least she felt up to the challenge.

Loki stepped back, and snapped his fingers. She found herself in a soft, warm woolen dress, with fur lined boots. All green, of course. He was dressed as he had been last night, without the cloak. "Come," he said. "You must eat."

Natasha frowned. Why was he being so nice all of a sudden? "I thought you said I was in trouble."

The sly smile returned to his lips, and he grasped her chin gently in his long, slender fingers. "Oh, yes, Natasha. I have yet to think of a proper way to punish you." He dropped his hand, an incredulous look coming over his face. "But I'm not going to starve you for misbehaving," he laughed.

The look of relief on her face stilled his laughter, and the concerned expression flickered in his face a moment. He turned away from her, as if angry, and opened the door. She rushed after him._ Why did he have to walk so quickly everywhere?_ she wondered.

Before long they had reached the great cavern, and the large table was once again filled with far more food than the both of them could eat. Last night she had marveled at the bounty, this morning it seemed almost a waste. But she sat and began to eat, trying to go slowly this time. It was difficult, though. She had been so hungry for so long. Loki took only a small pastry, which he picked at despondently. He mostly studied her, and she felt it was getting easier to ignore.

Finally, when she felt that she could not possibly eat another bite, she sat back, sighing. Loki had given up pretending to eat, and sat with his elbow on the table, chin propped in his hand. He waved his hand with the casual elegance he used for spells, and the table was cleared. Suddenly, without the distraction of food, his regard was much harder to avoid.

There was a very long moment as they stared at each other, until Natasha finally lowered her eyes, unnerved.

"What is it that you fear most?" he asked cheerfully.

"What?" Natasha blinked rapidly.

"Spiders, rats, snakes?" he held up a hand, and a small snake appeared in it, wound around his fingers.

She laughed. "Certainly not spiders. I'll take them over cockroaches any day. Rats... as long as you've got a good pair of boots to sleep in, there's nothing to fear from them. Snakes..." she shrugged. "I do find them a little unnerving, but-"

She gasped as suddenly she felt herself trapped against the chair by the coils of an enormous snake. She could feel it twining around her, as another began to slowly slide its way up her leg.

"I find," Loki said, looking almost as though he were addressing the small snake in his hand instead of her, "that there is something terribly delicious about the thrill of terror." He looked to her, smiling his dangerous smile. "Don't you?"

"No." Natasha fought the racing of her heart, the rise of adrenaline. "Terror holds no thrill for me," she said, her voice barely wavering. "It is far too familiar."

As quickly as the snakes had appeared, they were gone. Natasha struggled to control her breathing, smoothing her hands over her skirt to keep them from shaking.

"What has been done to you?" Loki asked quietly. It was so silent in the cavern that his voice seemed to surround her.

"What do you mean?" she deflected, wishing he had at least left her a drink to hide behind.  
Loki sat back, frowning. "You eat as if you have never seen food, yet when I say you are in trouble you assume it will be denied you. Everything I do is seen first as a threat."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I was _sacrificed_ to you. What am I supposed to think? And anyway, you have a pretty sadistic sense of humor."

Loki nodded, conceding the point to her, but he did not relent. "You flinched." She knew he meant last night, not the snakes. "You fear... things that most women have no knowledge of."

Natasha swallowed the memories. They were bitter and stuck in her throat. "I was thrown down here for selling myself, Loki. I know a lot more than most women."

Loki merely stared her down.

She sighed heavily. "You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

"No." He smiled a little, knowing he had already won.

She sat back, thinking how best to start. She gestured to the table "Can I at least have some water? It's a long story."

An ornate silver goblet appeared on the table before her, and she took a long drink, her nerves still on edge. "I never knew my father," she started. "My mother died when I was very young, of a sickness that swept through the city. It seems they left some debts behind them. I was given-sold, really-to a place where I might... work them off."

A look of disgust passed Loki's face. "How old were you?"

She shrugged. "Four? Five? I'm not sure. But I was lucky that I was a pretty child. Had I been ugly, I would have been sent to a work camp, where I would have surely died. The place I was sent to..." she trailed off, staring into the fire.

"It was wrong, what they did to us. But there was food, and no one froze to death. If you behaved, and didn't cry when the men touched you, they might even give you presents." She took another sip of water. "Once you got too old, you went to one of the more... conventional brothels. There was no hope of ever paying off the debts, because you also owed your own keep."

Loki swore, standing to pace over to the fire. He stared into it for a long moment. "How did you escape?" he asked.

She licked her lips. "I ran away. I stole some money, and I went North. It was the dead of winter, and I knew they would never expect me to head North."

Loki turned. She could see from his face that he knew there was more, but he didn't press. Instead he simply stood there and stared at her.

She hated his pity. "What do you care? I thought evil was your purvey."

"No!" Loki shouted, a fist banging down on the table. "Fear, lies, treachery yes. But that..." he shuddered. "That is truly evil."

Natasha wished she had never told him. She had expected him to be unimpressed, to laugh maybe. But pity? It made her skin crawl. "I don't need your sympathy," she spat out.

Loki sighed. He walked around the table and sat on it, in front of her. He stole one of her hands, lacing his fingers through hers. "Would that my magic were more benign. Alas, there is some truth in your words. I have always held more sway over those with evil in their hearts. Perhaps I am evil."

Natasha glanced up, surprised at his admission. There was a world of hurt in his vulnerable face, and she felt that same tug towards him that she had the night before. What past did he try to bury, here in this pit? She realized she pitied him as well. Was it wrong to pity the devil?

"Am I any less evil than those men? The things I would do to you, Natasha," he closed his eyes, but it did not hide the passion he felt. "Am I absolved because of a mere decade or two?"

She bit her lip a moment. "I like the things you do to me, Loki," she murmured. "I want them." She let her other hand rest on his leg, no artifice in the gesture. "I want you," she whispered.

Loki shuddered at her words, and at last opened his eyes. They burned with lust. Without blinking, Natasha found herself laying on the table, Loki hovering above her.

"Say it again," he whispered roughly.

She wound her fingers in his hair. "I want you, Loki."

He made a tortured sound and buried his face in her neck. Natasha smiled faintly, feeling her body respond, arching up to surrender to him.

_**A/N: **__Figured since I put up a couple of chapters for Anima Complex, I should probably write one for this story, too! You can see the new cover art (without the words) over on my DeviantArt page here: /d5in6rs_

_I promise Loki hasn't gone all soft. He's just trying to get inside Natasha's head. ^w^_

_Loki inspiration Song of the Week: Night of the Hunter by 30 Seconds to Mars-Shannon Leto Remix_


	7. Chapter 7

_I don't own Loki or Natasha, or make money off them. But boy do I have fun with them ^.^_

Natasha set to work proving her words true. She slid her hands down his chest, and tugged at his belt. He cursed softly and stood up, unhooking it and tossing it away, before dragging the tunic over his head. Natasha slipped her hands under the cambric shirt and around to his back, pulling him back to her. She kissed him with all the skill she possessed, and was rewarded with a low groan. Her hands wandered lower to grab his sculpted rear, pressing his hips into hers roughly.

Loki chuckled against her lips. "Oh you _are_ eager," he grinned. He slid a hand under her back, pulling her up a little off the table so he could loosen the laces of her dress. He then began to slide the dress off her shoulders and down, drinking in the sight of her as she was revealed to him. Before she could pull her hands free of the sleeves, though, his hand darted behind her and caught the laces again drawing them tight.

She frowned and tried again to pull free. She could not-her hands were pinned to her sides by the tightness of her dress.

"You don't like that, do you?" he murmured as he tied the laces securely. "Such skillful fingers, but what are you without them?" He pressed her shoulders back against the rough wood of the table before sliding his hands down to take a double handful of her full breasts.

She moaned and arched up, but he moved his hips away, out of her reach. She mewled plaintively, but he ignored it, bending down to tease her nipples with tongue and teeth.

Natasha waited until he was well and truly engrossed in his task, and then quickly wrapped her legs around him, drawing him in as she swiveled her hips against him seductively. It was her turn to grin as he inhaled sharply, indulging in a few thrusts before he stood, chuckling.

"Resourceful," he admitted. He tried to pry her legs from his waist, but she continued to move against him, not giving up so easily. He shook his head, amused, and slid a hand up her skirt. Without hesitation he began to work her most sensitive spot, his thumb pressing in circles that made her gasp. She felt her strength ebb away, her legs releasing her hold as she strove to grant him better access.

"Ah, there's a good girl," Loki crooned, and flipped her on to her stomach.

Natasha huffed, squirming against the hand pressed into her back to hold her down. "Why do you always do this?" she whined.

"Because," she could hear the smile in his voice as he nudged her feet apart with his own. "This is just how I like you." with his free hand, he began to pull her skirt up.

"What," she turned her head, trying to see him, "at your mercy?"

"Precisely," he breathed, ghosting his hand over her now exposed cheeks. "Now hold still," he said patronizingly.

Natasha couldn't help it, his tone was the last straw. She hooked his ankles with her feet and deliberately squirmed against him.

Loki gasped and then cursed. He grabbed her hips tightly and wrenched her away. He snapped his fingers and she suddenly found that she could no longer move her feet. It felt as though they had been tied to the legs of the table.

She was testing the strength of her bonds when she was shocked by the sharp sting of his hand against her backside. She yelped in surprise.

"I said, hold still," he warned through clenched teeth, but his hand gently soothed the red mark on her skin.

Natasha did as she was told, but only because she was thinking. Clearly he desired total control over her body, but that still left her a number of tricks up her sleeves.

When it was clear that she wasn't going to struggle further, Loki began again to please her with his fingers. She whimpered and tried not to move, but her hips ground themselves against the rough wood of their own volition. Loki seemed not to mind, and even removed the hand from her back to tear at the laces of his breeches.

The both of them groaned in relief as he pressed into her, but it was short-lived for Natasha. He began to move with a torturously slow rhythm, and she dug her fingernails into her palms with the effort of holding still. She whimpered, and felt him jerk in response.

Aha, she thought through the fog of passion. "Nnn... Loki..." she moaned.

"Yes?" he sounded very out of breath. It seemed that keeping his pace was almost as difficult for him as it was for her.

"Please..." she begged, and he growled low, leaning over her.

"Please what?" he said in his dangerous voice.

She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "I want..." she moaned, "I need more. Faster." She twitched beneath him a little to emphasize her point. "I want to feel you... deep inside me," she whispered.

Loki groaned and leaned his forehead against her back. Then, to her surprise, he began to comply. He moved faster, his pace less steady, rougher. He brushed her hair off her back, twining his fingers in it and pulling her head back. He drew his tongue up the back of her neck, and she shuddered.

"Yes," she breathed, "Oh yes, Loki, please..." she began to moan in time with his thrusts, faster and faster.

"Natasha," he gasped, and she was surprised by the desperation in his voice. "Come to me now, darling, I don't-"

Natasha hadn't needed the encouragement, she had already been very close. She cried out as she climaxed, her body tightening hard around him. He shouted something unintelligible and then bit down on her shoulder, just hard enough to hurt. He slammed into her once, twice, and then stilled on the third before collapsing onto her, panting and out of breath.

"Damn," he breathed softly.

"Hmm?" she murmured. She felt her feet released and squirmed against him, assuming she was free to do so now.

Loki reached between them and undid the laces of her dress, freeing her hands. "Next time I may have to gag that pretty mouth of yours. You are always ruining my fun." he pulled away from her slowly, and then sat heavily in a chair.

Natasha stood, pulling her dress back onto her shoulders. She sat on the table, studying him. "Why do you always need to be so in control?" she asked, and moved to sit on his lap. "Why can't you just let go, and enjoy it?"

He sighed heavily, toying with the loose collar of her dress. His hand slid up, to encircle her neck. She could feel her pulse against his fingers, and fought to stay calm. "I could kill you," he said sweetly, "with less than a thought. As you may have noticed, I am not like your other men. My strength is such that if I were to 'let go,' as you propose..." he released her neck, and she saw a flash of revulsion cross his face. "I am not certain you would survive the encounter."

She thought about that a moment. "What was it you used on my legs?" she asked suddenly.

He smiled, and a green scarf appeared in his hand. It was the same fabric as the dress he had made her the night before. She took it from him, studying it. It was much stronger than she would have guessed. "What is it? I've never seen it's like before."

"It's called silk," he said. "It comes from a land far to the East of here. It is made, I beleive, of something like a spider's web, with threads that stretch over a mile long."

"That would explain why it's so strong," she mused, rubbing it between her fingers. She eyed him speculatively. "Could you make a rope from it?" she asked.

Loki frowned a little, but complied, and the scarf in her hand changed to a short length of black rope, as thick as her thumb.

She played with it, thinking. "What if..." she stopped, shaking her head.

"What?" he drawled. When she looked away he caught her chin in hand and turned it back. "I know you have something clever in mind. Tell me."

Natasha thought this was probably a very bad idea. "You seem focused on keeping me from exciting you. But what if _you_ were the one who could not move?"

He looked from her, to the rope, putting the pieces together. He sighed, and took the rope from her. He pulled on it from either end, slowly increasing the strength. The rope creaked, and stretched, but did not beak. He let go, letting out a puff of breath. "It would hold," he agreed, "as long as whatever it was tied to did. But I am not certain if I would enjoy such a thing." he shuddered.

"I'll make you a deal," she offered quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. "You would bargain with the mad god?"

She licked her lips. "For this simple thing, yes. I shall do precisely as you like. Be a good girl, stay still. And quiet."

His other eyebrow rose to join it's twin. "And what do you expect in return? I won't set you free, if that's what you were hoping. You're far too... entertaining."

She shook her head. "Let me try this," she took the rope back from him.

Loki considered her for a long moment. "Alright," he ran a hand through his hair. "You have a deal." he let out a long, shuddering breath. He grabbed her by the hips and for a moment she thought he was going to take her up on it then and there.

He laughed outright as he lifted her off his lap. "No, sweet thing, I must give you time to recover. And there are other things which I must attend to." He stood and magicked his clothes back into place.

"What sorts of things?" Natasha asked as he turned her around to do up her laces.

"None of your concern," he said sternly. "You are free to explore this place as much as you like. If you get lost, or have need of me, simply call me and I shall appear. Now off with you." He swatted her behind.

She turned around to chide him, but he was already gone.

_**A/N: **__Hey there guys, didn't want you to think I had forgotten you! I've been very busy working on Anima Complex, but I thought I should probably update here as well. I am totally flabbergasted by how popular this story is, already it has far more views than my entire deviantART site, and that's been around for like 2 years. I'm so glad so many of you are enjoying the story, and I hope you keep tuning in for more. Next chapter, there's a bit of a wrench thrown into the workings! _


	8. Chapter 8

_I don't own Loki, Natasha and Clint. As to who owns who in that lineup, it remains to be seen._

* * *

Natasha frowned, staring around at the great cavern. What on earth was she supposed to do with herself? She had never had an idle moment in her life. Her previous keepers had been interested in gaining the most profit possible from the girls, so when they were not seeing customers, they had been put to work spinning and sewing. Sleep had been a precious commodity.

After she had escaped, every waking moment had been spent trying to put as much distance between herself and that awful place as was humanly possible. When she found herself without the funds to continue, she worked to gain them, using one skill set or the other.

Now, with no task before her, Natasha felt lost. So she wandered, exploring the extensive cave system that Loki had made his home. Some tunnels were indistinguishable from the corridors of a large stone building-except for the lack of windows, of course-while others drifted off into natural formations. It was these places she liked best, where she found what looked like frozen rivers and waterfalls of stone and huge pillars that hung from the ceiling and jutted up from the floor like the teeth of an enormous beast.

As she walked, she realized her way was lit by an unending series of torches. Far ahead of her, they would flare up, illuminating a new section of the cave. When she glanced behind, she saw that they would slowly flicker out once she had passed. Sometimes when she came to a fork in the tunnels, she would wish to take one path, but the other would light up instead. At first she didn't think much of it, especially since her wandering was somewhat aimless, and she trusted the magic to keep her from getting lost.

But after a while, Natasha grew curious. What was in those tunnels? Were they just dead ends, or was Loki trying to keep her from something? The next time she came to such an intersection, she wandered down the darkened half as far as the torchlight traveled. It was hard to tell with the light at her back gleaming dimly off the walls, but it seemed as if another light was further on down the tunnel a long ways. She held her breath to listen, trying to block out the sounds of water dripping and trickling through the caves.

There! She was sure she had heard something from further down the cave! A tumbling of pebbles, and a soft muttered curse. She went back and tried to free a torch from its bracket, intending to take it with her, but it would not budge. Suddenly it occurred to her that the source of the light and sound down the tunnel might be Loki. He had said that what he was going to do was "none of her concern," but this only made her more curious.

She knew Loki would be angry if he caught her spying on him, so she would have to be very careful. She left the torch in its bracket and returned to the darkened corridor. She trailed her fingers along the damp stone wall, moving slowly so as not to scuff her foot on anything and make a noise. The further she went, the more she was sure there was a light ahead. As it grew clearer, she heard the sound of someone muttering to themselves gruffly. She frowned. That didn't sound like Loki, that sounded like...

"Clint?" Natasha asked incredulously as she rounded the corner, to see the archer crouching down over something.

"Tasha?" he whipped his head around, equally surprised. He made to get up, but almost fell as whatever he was tugging on tugged back.

She rushed over, and saw that his arm was buried, up to the elbow, in the thick black substance which had broken her fall. She glanced up to see the walls of the pit, a rope dangling down it held a lantern, the source of the light she had seen.

Clint cursed as he tried to jerk his arm out of the black goo again, unsuccessfully. "Slowly," Natasha reccomended, and he nodded. He pulled slowly, and gradually an inch of his arm appeared above the surface.

"What are you doing here?" she asked when she had recovered from the shock of seeing him.

He laughed, "What do you think? I came here looking for you, of course."

She blinked rapidly, confused. She knew Clint was fond of her, but...

"When you disappeared from Kuhmo, I followed you," he explained, drawing his arm out a couple more inches.

Disappeared? She hadn't seen Clint for two weeks when she decided to move on from Kuhmo. She sighed. "It's just like you to expect me to still be there when you get back from your unannounced adventures," she rolled her eyes.

He only grinned, and finally managed to free his hand. Jumping up, he enveloped her in a tight hug. "Is that any way to talk to your rescuer?" he joked.

"Rescuer?" she repeated, frowning.

He laughed, and it sounded relieved "Saints in heaven, Tasha, when they said they threw you down here, I thought for sure you were dead!" He took her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks gently. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you alive."

Natasha wished she could return the sentiment, but if Clint remained there much longer, he would likely not remain alive. She was more than halfway certain that Loki had spared her on a whim. He was not likely to do the same for an intruder.

"You have to go," she said quickly. "You can't stay here." she found the end of the rope and handed it to him.

Clint was still smiling, but he looked confused now. "Of course, we'll go right away," he detached the lantern from the rope and reached out his hand to her.

She stared at his hand, and for one brief moment, she considered taking it. Wasn't this how the stories went? The dashing hero comes to rescue the damsel from the forces of evil before she can be ruined?

She laughed at the thought. She was already ruined, and looked forward to her continued ruination at the hands of Loki with equal parts dread and anticipation. She shook her head. "No, Clint, I can't go."

He frowned, and for the first time took in her fine woolen dress, clean hair, and general appearance of well-being. She looked well-cared for, something quite at odds with his memory of her. "Why not?" a note of suspicion crept into his voice. Why would she look so good after a night in a pit?

Natasha ran a hand over her face. How could she possibly explain? "You're not going to believe me," she groaned.

Clint crossed his arms and took a wide stance, reminding her very much of a stubborn goat. "Well I'm not leaving without you," he argued. Loudly.

"Shhh, don't make such a racket," she whispered, pressing her fingers to his mouth.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?" he looked around, a tinge of alarm coloring his expression. "What else is down here?"

"It's not what, it's who," she sighed.

Clint frowned, but she said nothing. "Tasha? Who else is down here? Who else could possibly..." he trailed off, and then laughed. "Oh, don't tell me you believe that nonsense the villagers spouted about this 'mad god-"

Natasha clapped her hand over his mouth. "Don't say his name," she hissed.

He pulled her hand away gently. "Why not?"

She glanced past him to the tunnel. "He'll come," she whispered breathlessly.

Clint studied her frightened expression. Then he glanced down at her clothes, at the strange pool of black tar he thought had held her bones. And he knew. "Good lord, he can't be real?" he whispered, but he already knew the answer.

"There seems to be no end to what he can do, except leave this place. And neither can I," she said firmly.

"What did he do to you?" he reached out to her, but she flinched away. He tried to get her to look at him, but he could not get her to hold his gaze.

"Natasha," he managed to get a hold of her shoulders, but his grip was gentle and she could have easily pulled away. "What did he do?"

She stared at the wall. "What I expected of him," she said quietly. "What I... wanted."

At last she looked back at him, and her eyes held a look that almost frightened him. He let her go, taking a step back. They were silent a moment, and she held out the rope again. "Please, go. I don't want anything to happen to you, Clint."

He sighed. When had Natasha ever done as he thought she would? "There's no way I can convince you to come with me?"

"No," she said softly.

He sighed, and began to climb the rope.

"Unless..."

Natasha's voice was quiet, but it made him stop and look back down at her.

"If you could find a way... For both of us to leave..."

Clint knew that he was not included in this 'us.' "Yes?"

She bit her lip. "Then I would go with you, I promise."

He sighed heavily. "I'll see what I can find out," he offered, and then he blew her a kiss, grinning cheekily.

She smiled a little, and held the rope steady while he climbed it. Once he reached the top, she felt the rope slide through her hands as he coiled it.

"Be safe, Natasha," he called down softly. "Wait for me."

She watched the lantern float back up the pit, taking perhaps her only chance of leaving with it. Long after it had gone, she stared, and then sighed, turning to find her way back to the torches.

But everything was dark. She felt her way along the walls, but encountered a new tunnel she didn't remember being there. Had the torches gone out in her absence? She tried to find her way in the blackness, but nothing seemed familiar and the walls remained unfinished.

Suddenly, her foot slipped on a loose stone, and she fell, sliding down the steeply sloping floor and over a ledge, which her hand caught at the last moment. She tried to pull herself back up, but there was nothing to hold onto except the small stone spike she clung to, and that didn't seem like it would hold her weight much longer. Closing her eyes and silently cursing, she knew what she must do.

"Loki?" she breathed.

An instant later the spike broke, but before she could fall she felt an iron grip close around her wrist, pulling her up until she was almost level witha pair of glowing green eyes. Torches sprang to life around them, revealing a perfectly ordinary tunnel with no precipice, no fatal drop.

Only one very angry god.

"What did you think you were doing?" Loki said through clenched teeth. His grip on her wrist tightened painfully.

"I- I got bored, so I went exploring," she stuttered.

"Oh please," he spat, and released her so suddenly that she fell to the ground. "Don't lie to me, you'll only make a fool of yourself. I know everything that happens down here, see everything, _hear_ everything."

Natasha blinked up at him. "Then why didn't you come?" she asked, surprised but grateful.

He stared at her a moment, his anger cooling. "Why didn't you leave?" he asked quietly.

She stood, brushing her hands off on her dress. "Because I made you a promise," she said simply, and while her stance was calm and collected, her voice wavered slightly.

Loki took two steps toward her, and touched her face gently. He studied her as if she were a vexing puzzle. He wound his fingers slowly in her hair, and then tightened his grip, making her gasp.

"I think it is time you made good on that promise," he growled.

* * *

_**A/N: **__I haven't abandoned this story, I promise. I just got super busy, first with NaNoWriMo, and then with the holidays. I don't plan for it to be a very long story, though, so I've sort of been dragging it out. If you ever get bored of waiting, you can pop over to my other story, Anima Complex, which updates every Wednesday and Saturday. Things are just starting to heat up between Loki and Natasha in that story._

_The more I write this story, the more I like it. I feel like I've managed to work almost all of my favorite fairy tales into one story: The Beauty and the Beast, Swan Lake, The Phantom of the Opera, and others. I really think that once I'm done with this I might make a graphic novel of it. We'll see._

_An anonymous reviewer made a comment that the Jotunn are probably not cold all the time-I actually agree. I imagine that between being Jotunn and his magic, Loki probably has total control over his body temperature. It's just that here he's been alone for so long, and feels so cold inside, that he forgets that living things are supposed to be warm. *shrug*_

_As always, thank you so much for your reviews! They make me very happy, and really motivated me to get back to this story._


	9. Chapter 9

_I don't own Loki or Natasha. Had to think a bit about this chapter, so it took a while to write. Hope you enjoy!_

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Loki took hold of her wrist again, and began leading her down the corridors at his usual frantic pace. "I shall make this very simple," he said patronizingly. "You will not say or do anything unless you are instructed. When you are told to do something, you will obey immediately and without question. Understand?"  
He glanced back to see her response, and the look on his face made her smart-mouthed reply die in her throat. She couldn't tell if he was furious or elated. For the first time, he looked truly mad.

"Well?" he shook her wrist a little, jolting her out of it.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Good," he snapped. They had come to a door, which he threw open. It was the same room they had stayed in before, but the mirror had been covered and the fire had burned down to glowing orange embers. It gave the room an eerie look, splashing the walls and floor with color and leeching it from the drapes and bedclothes, turning them black. It looked like a demon's boudoir.

"Stand there," he pointed to a spot in the middle of the room, in front of the fireplace. As she did so, he flopped down onto one of the squat, puffy couches, landing in a pose that would look sloppy on any other man. He made it look elegant and arrogant. With a wave of his hand he summoned a goblet, and drank from it deeply while he looked her over.

Natasha stood, nervous under his examination. She pressed her hands to her sides to stop them from shaking, taking comfort in the softness of her wool dress.

At long last he sighed. "Strip," he said shortly.

She blinked, surprised. He certainly wasn't the first man to ask her to undress for him, but-

Loki raised a single eyebrow, interrupting her thoughts. She suddenly realized he had never stipulated what he would do if she did not follow his instructions. Her hands flew to the back of her neck and frantically tore at the laces.

He smirked. "Slowly," he clarified, taking another drink.

She shuddered at his reminder that he had overheard the entirety of her conversation with Clint. She cursed inwardly. With any other man she would make an art of this, revealing herself inch by tantalizing inch until he was hot and bothered and hard. But with Loki watching, her nerves were strung so tightly that she was clumsy and graceless. She bit her lip as she fumbled with the hard-to reach laces, and looked to see if Loki was angry.

Instead he seemed amused and pleased. As she slid the dress off her shoulders, he vanished the goblet and leaned forward, elbows on knees and his fingers laced loosely between. She freed her arms from the sleeves, but kept the bodice clutched to her front. He had seen her naked several times, but before his calculating gaze she felt doubly exposed. It was as if he could see beyond her clothes, and her skin, into her soul.

"Go ahead, let it go," his voice was incongruously encouraging and soft. It did not match the piercing, cruel smile.

Natasha released the top of her dress, and it fell, catching on her hips and exposing her to the waist. His eyes flashed, and she covered herself instinctively, crossing her arms over her chest.

He stood, making a disapproving 'tsk' sound. "I didn't tell you to do that, Natasha," he said teasingly. He pulled her arms away from her body, and she didn't dare resist. He drank in the sight of her as he spoke. "Haven't you ever played this game before? If I say 'Loki says undress,' you undress. If I don't say 'Loki says' it doesn't count and you're out." He chuckled at his own little joke.

Reaching behind her, he loosened the laces a little more and let the dress fall the rest of the way off her hips and onto the floor. He stepped back to admire her, naked against the glow of the fire, the goblet reappearing in his hand. She did not try to hide herself again, although she desperately wanted to.  
He smiled. "Very good. Now go to the bed and lay down."

This time, she did not hesitate. Still, some part of her wanted to fight against being ordered around, so she followed his instructions slowly. When she got to the bed he was still standing by the fire, watching her. For one terrifying moment, she wondered if he had been serious about the 'Loki says' joke, and that she would suffer some consequence. But he said nothing as she lay down, only taking another swig of his drink before following her.

He stood beside the bed, staring down at her sprawled form. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards, and with a rush she knew he liked what he saw. "Now, hold still," he said absently, and held the goblet out over her body. He tipped it, and poured a small measure of its contents into the dip of her navel.  
It was hot-she guessed mulled wine by the color-hot enough that it burned her sensitive skin for the first few seconds. Then, as the heat began to seep in, the sensation spread to interesting places. She just barely managed to stifle a groan, and clutched the bedcovers in an effort not to squirm.

"You musn't let any of it spill," Loki explained, "Or I shall be very put-out." He dipped a finger into the small puddle, and trailed it up between her breasts to the notch of her collar bones, leaving a large droplet there as well. He glanced down at her hands, clinging tightly to the bedclothes. "I want you to touch yourself, Natasha," he said, and his voice lost some of its clinical edge, becoming liquid with passion.

Natasha frowned, but lest she make him angry, she put a hand to her face.

He laughed, almost a giggle. "Innocence, from one such as you? I'm surprised. No, my dear, not your face." He took her hand and moved it down to her breast, "Here. Or better yet," he moved it lower, pressing her fingers into her sensitive flesh, "Here. I want you to touch yourself the way you like."

She blushed, catching his meaning easily. "I-I don't-"

He silenced her with a glare, but then smiled wryly. "Oh come now, you can't have had company every night? Surely there was some cold night when you lay alone, craving the passion, the surrender of your... profession?"

She closed her eyes, trying to escape that gaze which peered into her most private thoughts. And yet, her hand began to move, slowly, carefully, trying not to spill the wine on her stomach.

"Yes, I thought so," Loki said smugly. She opened her eyes to see him grinning. He began to undress himself, without fanfare, as anyone might do at the end of the day. At least, that was the appearance he tried to give. But she saw the way his hands lingered on his own skin, how the discarded garments were thrown away without a second thought as he watched her with greedy eyes. She didn't need to wait until he unlaced his breeches to see how aroused he was. The simple fact that he had chosen to undress, rather than vanishing his clothes, said something itself.

When he had finished, he knelt on the bed, hovering over her. He took one last drink from the goblet before vanishing it. Leaning over, he kissed Natasha, and when she opened her mouth to him it was flooded with the taste of the spicy mulled wine. She moaned and he chuckled, leaving her lips to capture the drop of wine at the base of her throat. He continued downwards, nuzzling her breasts and stopping at the small pool in the middle of her stomach.

He glanced up at her, a warning in his expression. "Now, stay still, and don't make a sound." She closed her eyes as he began to lap up the wine, the sensation mixed with the motion of her hand creating ripples of pleasure throughout her body. Once he had finished, he moved even lower, and gently pulled her hand away.

Without any warning or preamble, he began to lavish her with his tongue in much the same manner he had done above. Natasha gasped, and it took every ounce of her will not to cry out or buck her hips. Within moments she was at the edge, but just then he pulled away. She tried not to make a sound, but a small whimper escaped.

Fortunately, Loki seemed to find this amusing. He sat up, and began to tease her with his fingers. He used a feather-light touch, and the contrast was agonizing. Slowly, he built her up again, watching her face carefully. When she was almost there, when the slightest graze of his finger would set her over the edge, again he stopped, his hand hovering above her tauntingly.

"How did you escape?" he asked, and the sound of his voice startled her. It seemed an eternity since she had heard anything but the sound of her own frantic breathing. She blinked up at him, confused.

"Escape?" she breathed, hoping he wouldn't be angry.

"From that awful place," he said softly.

Natasha swallowed, realizing what he meant. She opened her mouth, but the words would not come out. She had never told anyone.

"Tell me," he whispered. He lightly tracied a finger from her hip down the crease between her stomach and her leg, down into her auburn curls...and then stopped.

"I killed a man," she blurted out. "I saw that he had a lot of money on him, so I killed him, took it, and ran."

Loki rewarded her by resuming his attentions, gently stroking her with his fingers, before letting them wander lower, tracing the slick folds but venturing no farther. She was so completely focused on not tilting her hips towards him she almost didn't understand his next question.

"And he doesn't know?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "No."

He made a pleased humming sound, almost like a purr, and slipped a finger inside of her. She gasped at the sensation, but almost immediately craved more. He moved slowly, so slowly she almost couldn't feel it, beginning to build her up again. This time, when he stopped before the end, she was not surprised. Still, she bit down hard on her lip to keep from vocalizing her frustration.

Loki saw, and chuckled. He left off toying with her, and lay down atop her again. With her nerves so on edge, the sensation of his skin sliding against hers was exquisite, and a small moan escaped her throat. He nibbled at her earlobe, and then licked the shell of it in one long stroke. "So you begin to see the game I play?" he murmured.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice shaky.

"Good," he purred. He tilted his hips against her, but only once, and then went back to toying with her ear. His hands roamed her body, finding all the secret places he had discovered, teasing and stroking and tickling them. She was so distracted by these little touches, it took her quite by surprise when he entered her.

Natasha cried out softly, her hips tilting of their own accord to accept him more fully.

"Shhh," he brushed her lips with his fingertips, and then kissed her, slowly, softly. He moved within her at an agonizing pace, and the whole of her will was devoted to not moving, every muscle in her body tight as a bow string. He licked her lips and left off his kissing. "Look at me," he murmured softly.

It sounded more like a request than an order, but she opened her eyes anyway. His face was only inches away from hers, and his deep emerald eyes filled her vision. They were like two chasms into which she could fall... "Relax," he told her, and she felt her body do so without even thinking.

She felt her release coming as if from a long ways away, like a wave that slowly rose, higher and higher, until it engulfed her completely, and she was drowning in it, every sense overridden until there was nothing to her existence except Loki and the way he made her feel. Her mouth opened soundlessly, and distantly she felt him tense, clasping her tightly as he thrusted sharply, her name on his lips like a desperate prayer.

Natasha felt as if her insides had suddenly burst into flame. She cried out, her hands leaving her sides to clutch at Loki's back. Her vision clouded over, and when it cleared she was gasping for air. He still held tightly to her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He, too, was short of breath, and she could feel the warmth of it against her skin.

She had come down from her high, but her body still shook with the force of it, twitching and pulsing in time with her racing heart. "Oh, god," she moaned.

"Yes?" he quipped.

She giggled helplessly.

Loki propped himself up on his elbows, brushing her hair out of her face. "Oh, my beautiful girl. You did very well," he said sincerely.

"Did I?" she asked, confused. She thought she had broken his rules at the end.

"Yes." He kissed the corner of her mouth, and then withdrew, settling on the bed beside her.

She stayed as she was, her body felt like it was made of lead even as she still trembled with aftershocks. He lay on his side, facing her, and trailed a finger from the base of her throat down between her breasts to her navel. Her back arched off the bed, and she moaned.

He sighed happily. "No one's ever done this for you, have they?" he asked.

Natasha blinked up at him. She had thought this was for him, not that she hadn't enjoyed it.

He continued to trace intricate patterns on her skin. "No man has ever taken the time to show you what your body can do, if played correctly."

She laughed. "I doubt many men _know_," she reasoned.

He smiled. "I suppose not." He turned onto his back, resting one hand behind his head. Somehow she found the strength to curl up next to him, clinging to him like a shipwrecked sailor as her body slowly quieted.

Just as she was about to drift off to sleep, Loki sighed and shifted to face her. "I must go. There are things which require my attention. Is there anything you need?"

She shook her head, surprised by his solicitous manner. "Just sleep, I think," she yawned.

He smiled, amused. He then waved his hand over her, and a shift of the softest cotton lawn appeared around her. "Sleep, then." He kissed her hair, and was gone.

* * *

_**A/N:** __Well there you have it! Don't worry, Loki hasn't gone all mushy, he's just in a very good mood at the moment. There will be more evil plottyness later. As always, I looooooooove reviews... they totally make my day, and help inspire me to write more._


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry it took so long to update, but you get two chapters! Bit of a rough break between them, so I won't say more until after the second one._

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When she awoke, a fresh fire was blazing in the hearth, warming the room. The candles had been lit, giving it a less oppressive feel. As she sat up, she saw that one of the low couches had been replaced with an enormous bathtub, and beside it stood a small table with fruit, bread, and honey atop it. She got up, hurrying over to the tub. It had been such a very long time since she had enjoyed a real bath...

To her surprise, it was already full of steaming water. A towel was draped over one end, and she spied a ball of soap on the table. She glanced around, but Loki was nowhere to be found. She let the beautiful nightgown she wore slip to the floor, and climbed in. The water was almost too hot, and she sank down slowly, hissing a little as it came into contact with certain sore places. She wasn't surprised-Loki certainly hadn't been gentle the first two times, although now she realized she was at least partly to blame for it.

She sighed deeply as the hot water engulfed her body, right up to her neck. What could she say? She had never been one to simply lie back and let a man take what he wanted. Very early she had realized that the world could take almost anything you owned away, but they could not take your spirit. That could only be given willingly, and the sooner you learned how to withhold it, the more likely you were to survive.

Now, in the quiet aftermath of Loki's absence, she began to fear that she had been wrong, that Loki sought to take her spirit. That given enough time, he might succeed. What would happen to her then? She shivered, despite the heat of the bath, picturing a life spent trapped in this pit, at the mercy of every amusement his twisted mind could conjure. And yet...

And yet there was still something which drew her to him. True, that outcome was one possibility, and maybe even the one Loki was actively pursuing. But perhaps it was not the only way... She took up the ball of soap and sniffed it. Lemongrass. She would have expected something more exotic and refined. The unexpected clean scent of it surprised her, and as she began to scrub her skin, she thought.

Loki's personality was not unlike a tangled ball of thread. At first glance it looked like a terrible mess, but Natasha knew from long experience that if you took the time to look, to tug gently in the right places, any knot could be unraveled. If she were to apply the same patient diligence, perhaps she could learn to understand the labyrinthine complexities of his mind. But what would she find at the center of the maze?

She was uncertain, but she thought she had caught glimpses of it-some burning need that resonated with something deep within herself. She had expected his end of their bargain to leave her feeling humiliated and defiled, but instead it brought about the exact opposite reaction. She felt as though she had, for a spare moment, transcended from the gritty, awful world she had become so familiar with and into another where everything resonated with magic and beauty. And Loki had known-she could see it in his face, afterwards-that this would happen. It made her wonder about his motivations and his origins.

By this time she had thoroughly cleaned her skin and hair, and draping the wet mass of her curls over the edge of the tub to dry, she began to sample the delicious variety of food on the table beside her. She was contemplating a strangely shaped fruit when Loki suddenly walked into the room without knocking. Surprised, she dropped the fruit and drew her knees up to her chest, sloshing water out of the tub.

Equally surprised by her reaction, Loki burst into laughter. It was strange to hear him laugh without malice or bitterness behind it. She rather liked the sound.

"I should think by now you wouldn't have any modesty left, especially where I am concerned," he teased.

Natasha straightened out her legs slowly. "You startled me, that's all," she said defensively.

"I see..." he came to stand next to the tub, pointedly staring at her nudity. She endured his gaze with a lifted chin, unwilling to shrink away as he so obviously wanted her to. The only made him grin wider, and lean on the edge of the tub. "And how long were you planning on staying in there?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Until the water gets cold," she reasoned.

He chuckled. "My dear, it _isn't_ going to get cold. You shall shrivel up long before that happens."

She looked at the water, noticing for the first time that it still steamed. "Oh. More magic?"

"Of course." He waved a hand, and the towel that was draped over the foot of the tub lifted as though someone held it out for her. He did not wait for her to get up, and instead walked to the velvet-draped mirror, uncovering it and staring at his reflection.

She stood, feeling strangely heavy, and stepped into the waiting towel which wrapped itself around her. "What are you thinking?" she asked curiously.

Loki reached out and stroked the glass surface of the mirror. "This is my window to the world," he explained. "Through it I can see any place I can think of." He turned his head toward her slightly. "If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?"

She came to stand beside him, thinking about it. "South, somewhere warm. I hear France is a beautiful place," she murmured.

"Hmmm..." Loki smiled faintly, and stared into the mirror, which seemed to swirl and twist before revealing a scene of beautiful rolling hills. Perched atop one was a villa with a red tile roof, and the valley below was filled with row upon row of lavender. A breeze stirred the fields, and she could feel it, warm on her face, and smell the sweet fragrance of the flowers.

"Beautiful," she whispered, taking an almost involuntary step towards the idyllic scene. Loki reached out a hand to stop her before she could touch the mirror. Looking away, she saw that he had been studying her in the golden light of the sun that was inching towards the hills. Natasha realized it must be early evening; she had lost all sense of time down here.

"You belong somewhere like this," he gestured to the villa on the hill, "mistress to some lucky rich man. Or better yet," he smiled wryly, "an heiress of independent means. It would suit you well to live such a life, running an estate and crushing the heart of every man fool enough to pursue you for your money."

She laughed at the image he painted, it was as good as a fairy tale in comparison to the life she had lived. "If wishes were fishes," she joked.

He looked thoughtful. "I could make it happen."

She turned away from the mirror, facing him fully. "Truly?" she realized she had little understanding of the depths of his power.

Loki shrugged artfully. "It would be illusion, mostly, and in time it would fall apart. But for a while, yes."

She looked back at the magical window, and suddenly what it showed her made her heart ache with a strange longing she had never felt before.

"Show me something else," she begged, turning away.

He peered at her, curious at the unexpected display of emotion. "What would you like to see?"

Natasha returned his scrutiny fully. "Where you came from," she said finally. "You never speak of it."

He stiffened, as if she had struck a sore spot in him. He waved a hand to change the mirror, but turned his back to it before the image could resolve. She, however, stared wide-eyed at the impossible vista before her. A city which appeared to be made largely of pure gold encrusted the peaks of a mountain, windows sparkling like jewels on a crown. She had thought the hills of France beautiful, now they seemed crude and wild by comparison. It shone so brightly it made her eyes hurt.

"Would you go back, if you could?" she found herself asking.

"No," he said without hesitation.

"Why not?" she could not imagine forever forsaking such a place.

"Would you go back to Russia?" he asked in response.

She shuddered. "No." Turning away from the mirror, she studied his profile. What had happened to him there? It was hard to imagine such a fine place holding such terror for someone so powerful, but she knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. A muscle clenched in his jaw, and she felt a moment of pity for him. Lifting the velvet cover, she let it fall over the glass, hiding the stunning vista.

Loki relaxed visibly and turned to face her again. "If you could go to France, live the life I showed you, would you?"

Natasha thought about it. It was tempting, she felt it pull at her like a nagging hunger. But she knew what he was really asking. "I won't go. Not unless you do as well," she said quietly.

"Why?!" he hissed, suddenly angry. He grabbed her upper arms, his fingers clenching so tightly she thought they would bruise.

"For one, because I know it wouldn't last. But I would also wonder, every day, what had become of you," she explained calmly.

He gestured to the mirror. "I would watch you, it would be a relief, a way to live vicariously..."

"No," she interrupted. "It would be a new kind of torture."

He cursed and strode away. "This coming from a woman who wishes to tie me up and play," he spat.

_Ah, so that's what this is about_, she realized, and smiled. "You don't want to hold up your end of the bargain?" she challenged him.

"I never expected the need to!" he shouted. "I thought it would take weeks, months even, to make you obedient enough to bend to my will. I thought I would have to break you, and by then you would have forgotten! It never occurred to me that you would put aside your pride and spirit for the sake of I know not what. Why would you do that?!"

She lifted an eyebrow. "I was curious. I wanted to see where it would go. And I wanted to earn my chance to do as I suggested."

A rush of breath left him, and with it, all his ire. "Your curiosity will be the death of you," he warned, but his voice held only regret and no malice. He sank onto the bed.

She came to stand before him, and he toyed with the edge of her towel absently. "I am not a cat, Loki."

He scowled a little. "No, you are like a spider. You wait and you plan, spinning your web, letting me think you are helpless and all the while laying your traps." his voice was at odds with the bitter words, soft and mildly impressed.

She laughed a little, surprised by the irony. Of all the comparisons he could make, he chose one that was familiar to her. "I'm not going to eat you up," she teased, but then paused. "At least, not in the way a spider would," she amended.

This got his attention, and he glanced up at her. She smiled. "See, I am not the only one who is curious. It is your poison as surely as it is mine."

He growled and snatched at her, but she skipped away, and he caught only her towel. She slipped out of it, grinning triumphantly. Her grin disappeared as she backed into something, and turned to find Loki standing behind her. He caught her by the wrists, yanking her naked body against him. Fear shone bright in her eyes, and he felt a heady rush at the sight of it. He claimed her lips, crushing his mouth against hers forcefully. She melted against him almost instantly, and he groaned.

"You infuriate me," he ground out.

She seemed to take it as a compliment, smiling in a self-satisfied way. He shook her roughly, but it did not phase her much. "I cannot take from you if you give it willingly!" he revealed, his voice wavering with the force of his frustration.

"I know," she said, and there was no longer any teasing in her voice. "But you are so changeable! First you want me to obey, and now you curse me for it. I suppose I can resist, if that is what you like."

He shoved her away angrily, and began pacing. "No, you can _pretend_ to resist, which is not the same thing."

Natasha looked pensive a moment. "You are currently in my debt. Perhaps when you have fulfilled our bargain the balance between us will change in your favor."

He cut her a sharp glance. "Do not try to manipulate me, woman. You are dealing with a master."

She spread her hands wide. "I speak only the truth."

"Which can easily be as effective as lies," he countered.

She put her hands on her hips, and he paused in his pacing, amazed at the woman who stood before him, without a stitch on, as confident as if she were clothed in furs and diamonds. "You're not angry at me," she declared. "You were pleased when I did as you told me to. You are angry at yourself because you cannot abide owing me, but you are loathe to fulfill our deal."

Loki was silent a moment, completely taken aback at her ability to see right through him. Suddenly he felt as though he were the one standing naked before her. He scowled at her. "Well then what do you suggest I do, since you know me so well?" he taunted sarcastically.

"Follow through," she said immediately. "You will be in this state of torment until you do."

He cursed at the simplicity of her logic. "Fine," he ground out, and walked to the bed. He laid a hand on one of the posts, and beneath his touch the wood changed to dark wrought iron, twisted curlicues replacing the carvings. Black ropes snaked up from under the bed, and the furs and sheets disappeared before their advance. Once the transformation was complete, he turned to her with an expectant look.

"Now?" she asked, surprised.

"Why not?" Loki asked with a false cheerfulness. "You're dressed for it," he joked, and swiped a hand down his body, "And now so am I."

Natasha stared openly at his naked form. She had never seen him thus in such a bright light. She could see the scars she had found the first time clearly, and once more wondered what past event had left its tracks in his skin. Perhaps that was why he did not relish the ordeal before him. She wondered what it was he expected her to do, or if he even had an idea, and realized she didn't really know either.

"Alright, then," she made her voice sound more confident than she felt. "Lay down," she gestured to the bed, and tried not to smile at Loki's stunned expression.


	11. Chapter 11

Loki blinked, momentarily surprised that Natasha had called his bluff. He sighed, exasperated, and did as she had instructed—or rather ordered, he seethed—him to do. She came to the bed, and tied each of his limbs securely with the black ropes, checking her knots carefully.

He rolled his eyes. "This is pointless. I could always just make the ropes disappear."

"You won't," she said confidently.

He frowned at her. "Who are you to say what I will and will not do?"

She shrugged, tugging at the last of the ropes. "I say it because if you do, it will invalidate our agreement and we shall have to start over."

"Your argument assumes you will survive," he threatened.

"Oh, you won't kill me," she said in a careless tone, walking away from the bed and out of his range of vision.

"Again, you presume..." he growled.

"No," her calm voice carried from across the room, he resisted the urge to struggle against his bonds to see what she was doing. "I make you too curious. You would get bored without me here. They aren't likely to send another sacrifice any time soon, you know."

He gritted his teeth. "That man might come back looking for you," he suggested. "He's not my usual fare, but I might enjoy breaking his mind," he sneered.

Natasha's hands stilled in their task, and she was glad he couldn't see how much his words had affected her. She was struck with the realization that he had said it out of fear—he was afraid, and he wanted her to be more so. She picked up the pot of honey and smoothed a smile over her worried expression. "Clint? I'm afraid he wouldn't amuse you for very long."

He chuckled as he felt the mattress shift as she sat beside him. "You haven't much faith in your lover," he scolded.

"He's not my lover," she corrected with a small scowl.

"Oh, does he not love you?" he continued to tease.

She found it odd that he had not asked if she loved Clint instead. "He hardly knows me," she reasoned.

"_I_ hardly know you," he shot back.

Her eyes widened slightly at his near-admission of affection for her. "Yes, but you're different. Or rather, you and I are the same, and he is different from us."

He tilted his head to the side. "Different how?"

She sighed heavily. "He's so... _good_." The last word was given a tone that a less serious girl would have given to _short_ or _ugly_, or worse yet, _poor_.

After a moment of blinking hesitation, Loki began to chuckle, delighted. Irritated by his amusement, Natasha turned her attention to the task at hand. She twisted the dipper in the honey, trying to catch as much as possible.

"What is that?" he asked, all traces of humor gone from his voice. He almost sounded... scared.

"Honey," she answered, lifting the dipper so he could see. "You should know, you put it there."

He frowned, not relieved in the least. "Why did you bring it over here?" he said, suspicious.

In response, Natasha moved the dipper so that the honey dripping from it drizzled onto his chest. He flinched when it touched his skin, and he tried to move out from under it, unsuccessfully.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, clearly unsettled by her actions.

"You'll see," she teased, dunking the dipper and then lifting it to spread more golden rivulets over his stomach, and lower...

Loki let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling, his breath rapid and shallow. The ropes securing his wrists creaked as he pulled against them experimentally.

"Why does this unsettle you so?" she paused in her work to ask him.

For a moment, he did not answer. "It reminds me of... unpleasant things," he admitted quietly, not meeting her gaze.

She looked down at his odd scars, thinking. She had not been able to guess their origin, but now she thought that if something had dripped on him, like acid or molten silver... she paled. "I'm sorry, I never thought-"

"Don't," he interrupted. "Don't pity me." His voice was a harsh whisper.

She swallowed. "Alright," she agreed awkwardly.

He glanced down at himself and sighed. "What were you planning on doing with that, anyway?"

She smiled a little, set the honeypot on the bedside table, and then leaned over him to lick up some of the honey in one long swipe. He groaned, his back arching up towards her. She looked up to try to gauge his reaction.

"Oh, don't stop," he gasped.

Natasha grinned, and moved to straddle him before continuing to kiss and lick the sweet, sticky stuff off his skin. His breathing continued to be uneven, but now it was punctuated with his soft gasps and moans. She felt a rush of power at her ability to undo him with something so simple. Her pulse began to race as she drifted lower, wondering how he would react...

The moment her fingers closed around him, his head snapped up, and he stared at her wide-eyed. "What are you doing?" he asked, despite the obvious answer to his question.

She licked her lips, mere inches away from her goal. "Hasn't anyone ever done this to you?" she asked before flicking the tip of him teasingly with her tongue.

His hips jerked upwards sharply in response, and she giggled. "I wouldn't phrase it that way, no," he ground out, his eyes daring her to be shocked.

She caught his meaning easily—he had made others do it, but not willingly—and shrugged. "That's not the same thing at all," she reasoned. "Besides,I doubt any of them possessed half the skill I do," and before he could say anything further, she drew her tongue up the length of him, swiping up the honey there.

Loki cursed and threw his head back into the pillow. He gripped the ropes that secured his wrists tightly, and felt his toes curl at the sensation. She was right, damn her, he'd never felt anything like her talented ministrations. The complex interaction of fingers, lips, tongue and teeth nearly drove him out of his mind, and all he could do was arch his back, pressing up towards her and demanding more.

Natasha, meanwhile, was having more than a little fun. She usually dreaded this task, but with Loki it seemed less odious—it didn't hurt that he was attractive and well groomed. He was far more responsive than most men, and while his impressive size made some of her tricks more difficult to accomplish, she found herself rising to the challenge. His skin was so soft and pale, and the taste of him mixed with the honey was intoxicating. She could sense he was drawing close, though, and she wasn't done with him yet. She backed off her efforts, teasing him mercilessly.

The bed creaked a little as he pulled on his tethers again. "The things I would do to you, woman," he said in a strangled voice.

Her stomach fluttered at the threat—or promise—in his voice. "Oh?" she answered mockingly.

"I would show you how to use that pretty little mouth of yours, and when I had finished with you there I should find other places to entertain myself," he growled threateningly.

She just smiled and sat up, moving forward until her warm center, slick with her excitement, was pressed against his almost painfully erect member. "Like this?" she asked, moving her hips so she slid against him.

Loki cursed fluently in a language she did not understand. "No, you minx! You know what I mean." His threat was undermined by a hitch in his voice as she ground against him harder. "By all the gods, you enjoyed that, didn't you?" he asked, realizing just how wet she was.

She just smiled like the cat in the cream and continued her maddening dance.

His eyes narrowed. "Harlot," he chided, but his voice was soft with affection.

She laughed at how well the name fit. "Your harlot," she amended, and then suddenly moved to take him inside her, pushing down in one swift movement until their bodies touched again.

The metal of the bed frame creaked loudly as Loki's whole body arched into her, and she cried out a little in surprise. Once he had recovered from the shock, he grinned at her. "That is more like it." He emphasized his point with a sharp thrust of his hips, and she gasped a little. "Sore?" he asked teasingly.

Natasha gritted her teeth and began to move against him. "Nothing I can't handle," she assured him, and bit her lip at the sensation. It didn't so much hurt as it made everything more intense, and she was more than happy to take it slow in compensation.

Loki, however, was not content with her agonizing pace. He tried to move beneath her, but she just rode his thrusts like a wave, her hands splayed out across his stomach. He watched her, mesmerized, as she did as she liked, and he was helpless to do anything but enjoy it. "Natasha," he breathed, a new tactic coming to his passion-riddled mind.

"Mm?" she had gotten lost in what she was doing for a moment.

He licked his lips. "Natasha, darling, let me touch you..." he crooned.

She snapped out of her trance-like state and grinned. "Like this?" she asked, running her hands up her body to cup and squeeze her breasts.

"Yes," he whispered desperately.

"Or..." she paused, giving him a look of pure mischief, "like _this_?" one hand trailed down her front, lower, until it was almost between them. She found her most sensitive spot, and with her own fingers began to stroke it rhythmically.

Loki's mouth went dry. How quickly she had learned his tastes, and how marvelously had his plan backfired. "Yes, Natasha, please," he begged, beyond caring.

She bit her lip as if considering his offer, but then smiled darkly. She leaned forward, her russet curls and the tender skin of her breasts brushing against his chest. She kissed a line up his jaw to his ear, and nibbled on the lobe a moment before whispering "No."

He growled at her, trying to catch her lips with his own, but she darted back out of his reach. Since he was powerless to pursue her, she went back to riding him, her own hands running over her body and exploring all the sensitive places Loki had so recently revealed to her. He lay there, helpless, watching, and was forced to admit it was quite possibly the most erotic thing he had seen in his many long years.

Armed with her new knowledge of her body, it did not take Natasha long to send herself spiraling up to her climax, and the sounds she made alone were enough to bring Loki very close to his as well. She leaned forward, holding on to him, and each tilt of his hips made her skin drag against his deliciously. She murmured soft, dirty things in his ear, and he felt his control rapidly slipping. his pace became frantic, erratic, and she held onto him tightly. The bed frame made an awful groaning sound as he pulled tightly on the ropes, making Natasha gasp. He looked down to see the flash of fear in her eyes, and it was the spark to his powder keg.

Lights flashed behind Loki's eyes, and he closed them tightly. He felt as if he were coming apart at the seams-like he would explode at any moment. He began to feel a rising sense of panic, until Natasha murmured "Let it go," so softly and sweetly that it distracted him. It was enough to allow his undoing; he cried out and arched his back so hard he lifted them both off the bed. He could hear Natasha's desperate plea only distantly, as through water. And still it went on, until he thought it might drain him of life.

At last he collapsed, gasping for air. Natasha still clung to his body, shuddering. He looked to her, but could only see her fiery hair, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Gods, how he wanted to touch her.

"Natasha?" he asked cautiously, "are you well?"

His concern for her was perhaps the last thing she had expected to ever hear. She sat up a little so she could look him in the eye. He chuckled at the surprise written clearly in her expression. She swallowed, and licked her lips, assessing herself.

"I'm alright..." she said hesitantly. She moved away from him, gasping a little at the sensation.

He raised a doubting eyebrow.

She shrugged. "_Now_ I'm sore," she explained.

A wicked smile spread across his face. "Are you, then? Well let me out of these infernal ropes and I shall do something about that," he offered, tugging impatiently at his bindings.

She laughed softly, and moved to untie him, but found that he had pulled the ropes so tightly that the knots were locked solid. "I'm afraid you're going to have to get yourself out," she said sheepishly.

He rolled his eyes and the ropes vanished. She had only a moment to notice the red marks on his wrists before he grabbed hold of her. One arm snaked around her waist, locking her in place against his body. The other hand was buried in her hair, tightly gripped so he could crush his lips against hers in a vicious, hungry kiss. She did her best to reciprocate, biting his lip and moaning. When he at last had his fill, he pulled back to press his forehead against hers.

"We are _never_ doing that again," he said in a shaky voice.

She just grinned. "You're welcome."

* * *

_**A/N: **__I apologize for the very looooong break between posts. These two chapters, which started as one, were an absolute nightmare to write. Much of it had to be from Loki's perspective (which I'm always unsure when describing sex from a guy's perspective, naturally) and the Natasha of this story isn't terribly self-possessed, so it made for a difficult, uphill battle. I made the mistake early on of writing ahead, figuring then I'd be inspired to fill in the gaps. Nope. But hey, I haven't abandoned this story. Hopefully it won't be too long before the next post—make sure to stay tuned. Meanwhile, my other story Anima Complex updates every Wednesday and Saturday, so if you get bored, you can read that._

_As always, I adore all the wonderful reviews. I'm really unsure about parts of these two chapters, so I would really appreciate your input—constructive criticism is always welcome!_


	12. Chapter 12

Loki slipped an arm beneath Natasha's legs, and stood from the bed effortlessly. Surprised, she threw her arms around his neck, making him chuckle.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he carried her across the room.

"I did say I would find you some relief, did I not?" He smiled down at her as he came to the tub. For one terrifying moment, she thought he would drop her into the water, but instead he stepped in himself, still holding her. As the water surrounded him, he shifted her weight so she straddled him in the wide tub.

Natasha sighed at the feel of the water, which was still deliciously hot. Two baths in one day? It was an unheard-of luxury. Loki's lips quirked upward at the sound, and a crystal vial of dark liquid appeared in his hand. He poured some of it into the water, where it turned purple and drifted downwards like twisting fingers.

"What is this?" She asked.

"It's an oil distilled from the petals of a flower that grow on another world," he explained, as if such things were commonplace. "It has healing properties," he poured some into his palm, and rubbed his hands together before smoothing it over the red marks on his wrists. They disappeared before her eyes. "...As well as other qualities." He poured a little more onto his fingertips, and then slipped his hand into the water between them, finding her most sensitive spot.

She gasped and jerked back from him, making him chuckle and the water of the tub slosh.

"Don't tell me you're sore_ there_," he teased. "If you are, it's not my fault."

She blushed at his criticism of her clumsy attempts at self-pleasure. "I told you I didn't-"

"Oh, hush." Loki moved her in the water so she faced away from him, her back pressed against the sculpted muscles of his chest. "You did just fine. Here," he held out the crystal vial, and pulled her hand out of the water, "this will be easier if you do it," he explained. He drizzled the oil on her outstretched fingertips, and then gently guided her hand to her most sensitive places.

Natasha made a surprised sound at the unexpected sensation it elicited there. While it stung at first, as any contact would have, it soon spread a warm tingle deep into her flesh. It was a very pleasant feeling, and she could feel her eyelids drooping as the pleasure seeped into her.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Loki murmured against her ear. Suddenly self-conscious, she began to pull her hand away, but he caught it and moved it back. "Enjoy it, Natasha." His whispered command, and the way her name sounded on his lips, was all the encouragement she needed. She bit her lip and touched herself again, exploring a little more this time.

Loki's elegant hands slid up her arms out of the water, and began to knead her shoulders gently. She hummed in appreciation, and felt herself immediately relax. She took her time, using the knowledge she had gleaned from her time with Loki. Fast was not necessarily better, she knew now.

For his part, Loki watched her with breathless fascination. He had never before taken such interest in another's pleasure, but he was captivated by her passion. The way she looked, lips parted and eyes closed... though he could not see her face at the moment, he could picture it vividly. And the sounds she made - he felt his stomach clench as a whimper escaped her lips. The curve of her back as she arched against him, thrusting her breasts out of the water. He could not resist the temptation to play with them, and she moaned appreciatively.

Her breath came faster now, and her toes curled at the mounting pleasure. She could tell that Loki was enjoying her show, could feel the hard length of him against her back. She shifted against him a little, and was rewarded with a low, desperate moan. The sound of it was enough to end her, and she shuddered in his arms as she came.

"Natasha, darling," Loki's voice was thick with passion, "Please, I promise to be gentle," he turned her around in his arms, and she saw in his eyes a longing that went beyond lust. "I need to feel you," he breathed, pulling her hips up against him. "_Please_," he begged.

She was completely at a loss at his words. When had he ever asked her for anything? How could she deny him, now, when he did? She nodded, moving so he was at her entrance, and sliding down, the oil slicking the way. She was still a little sore, but it was worth it, to see the look of tortured bliss on his face. Once she had sheathed him completely, he let out a shuddering breath, and wrapped his arms around her tightly, his cheek pressed against the tops of her breasts.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet girl," he whispered. "You have undone me. Would that I could keep you here forever, away from the eyes of the world."

Natasha knew that what he said was from selfish motives, but it touched her deeply. She ran her fingers through his hair, wondering if he knew what his words meant to her. It was all she ever wanted, somewhere to hide, some protection from the nightmares that haunted her everywhere she went.

They stayed that way a long time, until Natasha began to drowse. She had lost all sense of time as it passed in the outside world, but knew that her body craved rest. Sensing this, Loki moved, withdrawing from her. Between one blink and the next, the tub disappeared, leaving them dry atop the couch that had replaced it, and a warm blanket wrapped them together. He lay back, his head cushioned on a pillow, and tucked her into the crook of his arm so that she was nestled between his body and the back of the couch.

"Sleep, my pet," he murmured, sounding sleepy himself. He trailed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, and her eyes fluttered shut. Just as she was falling asleep, she heard him say, barely above a whisper, "for you are mine..."

* * *

Natasha did not know how much time she spent with Loki, but if she had known she would have said it passed quickly. Her sleep was undisturbed by nightmares for the first time she could remember. Of course, usually she slept whenever she was too exhausted to remain awake, and usually this was Loki's fault, but not always. When she had complained that she had nothing to do when Loki was away - and he still had not explained what he did when he was gone-he had shown her a prodigious collection of books. They were from many different worlds, he had told her, but had been enchanted so that she could easily read each of them.

Once, she had fallen asleep while reading a particularly long-winded epic. It was about the Norse gods - Loki's family, she assumed - and she was starved for more information about his origins. But it said little on the subject, and seemed mostly concerned with detailed accounts of battles fought millennia ago.

She woke to see Loki peering at the book with an amused expression. "I always hated that one," he confided in her, and then carried her to the couch next to the fireplace, magicking a blanket to cover her. She drifted back to sleep without comment.

After that, she never found that book, or any other on the subject. She suspected they had disappeared. Instead she found a book that came from the far south, about a girl who was married to a king who had killed each of his wives the next morning. To save her own life, she had spun tales that had ensnared the king's curiosity, and each morning he spared her so that he could hear the end of the tale the next night. Smiling to herself, Natasha wondered if the girl had used more than her words to beguile the king.

The next time she saw him, she asked Loki if he had read the book. He said that he had, but it had been a very long time. Hesitantly, she offered to tell him the stories "as a way to pass the time."

He smiled. He remembered enough to be thoroughly amused by the concept, Natasha as his Scheherazade. "Alright," he agreed.

Natasha looked down at the thick book in her hands. "Perhaps when we've finished this one, I could read you another?" she asked.

Loki stared at her a moment. Something within him knew that they would not finish the first. He had been watching the movements of the brash archer who had dared to venture into the pit to rescue her. He was very close to finding a solution to Natasha's request, and Loki could only lead him on a wild goose chase for so long.

"Certainly," he said with a smile. It amazed him how it was still easy to lie to her. _Practice makes perfect_, he thought bitterly.

* * *

Natasha picked at the food on her plate. Loki had been withdrawn lately - except for in bed, where he had been rather rougher than usual, which was saying something - and had not said one word throughout the meal. She wondered what was eating at him, if it had something to do with what he did when he left her. At last she pushed the plate away, giving up.

"Finished?" Loki asked absently.

Natasha nodded. There had been a time she could not imagine leaving a scrap of food uneaten, but she had grown used to plenty in Loki's company.

"Here," Loki stood, and the wolf-fur cloak appeared in his hands. She shrugged into it with a curious face, but he said nothing, just stared at her.

"Loki, what is it?" she asked, finally.

This seemed to snap him out of it. "Come," he said loudly, holding out his arm. "We have company."

Natasha took his arm absently, wondering what on earth he could mean. She followed him through the twisting caves, trying to guess if another sacrifice had been made, or if one of the gods who had imprisoned Loki had come to take her away. She did not voice these ideas, kept silent by the frighteningly stern look on his face.

_What could possibly have him so upset?_ she asked herself. At last they rounded a final corner, and her question was answered.

There, at the foot of the pit, half-caught in the black muck, was Clint.

_Clint!_ She had almost forgotten. Now, she ran to him, helping him out of the sticky stuff.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, glancing back at Loki who stood stock still, watching.

Her would-be rescuer managed to pull himself free with her help, and dusted himself off. "I said I would come back, Tasha. I'm here to get you out of here. Both of you."

* * *

**A/N: **_I am sooo sorry that it has taken me so long to update this. My muse has been uncooperative of late, and it's taken everything I had just to keep Anima Complex updated twice a week. I promised myself I wouldn't let a month go by without posting on this story, and this is my last chance to post in April. I do intend to finish this story soon - I want it to be done before I get to a certain point in the other story. If nothing else, school ends at the end of May, and I should have a lot of extra time to write after that. Thank you so much for your patience, and reviews are always very much appreciated._


	13. Chapter 13

"What?" Natasha breathed, incredulous.

Clint grinned. "Took me a while to find someone who knew the secret. Then I had to figure out the how of it, which was no mean trick." He slipped a pack off his back and started pulling out ropes and strange wooden wheels.

She turned, looking at Loki. He watched with a stern but unsurprised expression, still mostly hidden in the shadows cast by Clint's lantern.

"Basically, we have to pull him out. Well - " he looked up at Natasha with an apologetic smile. "You have to pull him out. I can't help, and he'll be... unable to help." He glanced over at Loki, the first time he even acknowledged his presence.

Loki stepped forward into the light. "I'm afraid he is correct," he said, as if the idea left a sour taste in his mouth. "When I was first imprisoned here, I tried many times to escape under my own power. Climbing up, for me..." here he paused and glanced up the shaft of the pit, "is rather like being passed through a wringer. Eventually, I would lose consciousness and fall."

Natasha also looked up the seemingly endless vertical tunnel, and then back to Loki. He was tall, but slender, and she wondered how much he weighed.

He looked to her and chuckled, sensing her analysis. "And therein lies the problem, my pet. I am not of this world, and am made of denser stuff than mortals. I must weigh near to five times what you do."

Her eyes grew large, but Clint just nodded. "That's what the old seer I found said. Which is why I brought these." He had finally untangled the mess of rope and wood, and showed them a series of wheels that the ropes ran around, back and forth.

"Pulleys?" Loki guessed, his voice full of grudging admiration.

Clint, who had initially been wrapped up in the excitement of arriving, finally took in Loki's appearance.

"Yeah. Christ, you're really him, aren't you?" He stared at the god's fine robes and ashen face.

Loki was thoroughly amused by the archer's choice blasphemy. "Quite the opposite, I'm afraid. But please, I am curious what sort of system you have devised." He gestured to the pullies.

"Right. The more wheels we use, and the more times the rope is passed back and forth, the less effort it will take to pull, although we may be limited by how much rope we have," he explained.

Natasha looked to Loki, thinking of the black silk rope they had used more than once during her stay. He nodded, and touched his hands together before pulling them apart, a span of rope appearing between them. "I can provide an unlimited quantity, but it may disappear when I black out," he warned.

Clint glanced up the shaft. "How far up would you say you can get?"

Loki looked as well. "Halfway, perhaps three quarters? I am unsure of the total length of the tunnel."

"But you know how far you could go?"

Loki nodded.

"Ok, then make twice that much rope. That way, we can feed it through first, and we'll use it up before you reach that point," Clint suggested.

Loki did so, a large coil of the rope appearing on the floor next to Clint. He set to work immediately, tying the silk rope securely to the length of hemp he had brought, and feeding it through the wheels in a complicated pattern. As he worked, he explained what they would do. "Now, I'm not allowed to help either of you directly. I'll climb back up the shaft and secure this end," He held up a larger set of wheels, "And then we'll send Tasha up, with you pulling," he looked to Loki, who nodded. "Then we'll pull the slack up, and you'll have to tie yourself into the harness so you don't slip out," he warned.

Loki leveled a sarcastic glare at him. "I imagine so," he drawled.

"Right then. I'll holler when it's ready." Clint hooked the pulley system onto his belt, handed the other end to Natasha, and began to climb the rope back up.

Once he was out of sight, Natasha turned to face Loki. Clint's excitement was starting to rub off on her, but it was immediately doused by his expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked, reaching up to trace the line his scowl created between his brows.

Loki grabbed her wrist, but gently. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"Of course," she looked confused. "Don't you want to get out of here?"

He sighed. "This world has changed much in the time I have been imprisoned. I'm not certain I can find a place in it."

She smiled, and rested her hand against his cheek. "I'll help. We'll find somewhere together."

Loki just stared at her. After a long moment, he said, "This may be difficult," he gestured to the pit and the ropes dangling down it. "You must promise me, that no matter what I say, or what you hear when you are pulling me up, you won't stop. The magic of this place will do everything in its power to keep me from escaping."

She nodded. "I can handle it," she said, sounding more confident than she felt.

At this, he smiled, and bent down to kiss her gently. "I know," he said. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but held his tongue.

Natasha was going to ask what was on his mind, when the rope stopped spinning the wheel she held. A few moments passed, and then Clint's voice, distorted by the distance, bounced down the shaft.

"All is ready!"

Loki helped her into the swing-like harness, tying her in with quick, efficient knots. He took hold of the slack end, and began to pull.

"Wait!" Natasha yelled, startling even herself.

He stopped, and was doubly surprised when she took hold of his face and kissed him passionately. Loki did not respond at first, and then clutched her tightly to him with his free arm. Even when she had stopped kissing him, he held her, burying her face in her hair and whispering her name.

"Loki, I..." her voice caught in her throat as he looked her in the eye.

"Shh. Don't say something you'll regret. I will see you at the top." He said the last firmly, as if saying it would make it so.

"Alright. See you at the top," she agreed.

He let go of her, reluctantly, and began to pull the rope. He watched her move up the tunnel as long as he could, and she stared down at him.

After a while, though, there was only darkness. Natasha was vaguely aware of the walls passing her, but it seemed as if they were moving and she was holding still. The air seemed to grow thinner and heavier at the same time, and she watched as the black rope ran out and all that was left was hemp. Not long after that, the air suddenly cleared, her ears popped, and she could hear the squeaking of wheels above her. Soon, she could see the light from a second lantern, and then the top of the pit. When the wheel she hung from hit the rim, Clint called out.

"Tasha, you there?" He leaned out over the edge.

"Yes, can you help me up?" she held out a hand.

"At this point, yes." He reached out, took a firm grasp on her wrist, and pulled her out of the pit.

It had been so long since she had felt anyone's touch except Loki's, and Clint's rough, calloused hands seemed foreign to her as they untied the knots which held her in the harness. Finally free, she took a few steps into the world, feeling dizzy. Clint saw her teeter, and caught her arm.

"Hey, sit down. Have a rest while I lower the harness again. You're going to need it," he said softly.

She nodded absently, and sat.

"I'm sending the harness down again!" Clint shouted down the pit. A vague affirmative reply echoed back up.

As he fed the rope down, passing it hand over hand, Clint watched her carefully. "Are you alright?" he asked kindly.

She shook her head as if to clear it. "Yes, it was just... strange, going up the shaft."

"No, I mean..." He glanced uncomfortably at the pit. "What happened to you, down there? Did he..."

She scowled at him, and he laughed. "A pretty girl shut up with a man for two months, what am I supposed to think?" he joked.

"Has it really been that long?" Natasha sighed. She knew that Clint was being polite, and trying not to reference her illicit profession. She had actually mistaken him for a patron, the first time they met. Clint, who was used to women throwing themselves into his arms, had felt terrible when he found out. Instead of paying her, he had fed her and provided her with a place to stay. She chewed her bottom lip, debating if she should use this against him.

"He fed me," she said, too tired to resist her instinct to manipulate. "He gave me nice clothes and a warm place to sleep. He - "

"Stop." Clint choked out. He knew where this was going. For a long moment he just watched the rope slip through his hands. "Do you... do you love him?" he whispered.

Natasha let her head fall back against the wall of the cave. "Love is for children, Clint. I owe him a debt."

Clint turned, suddenly angry. "You don't owe him anything, Natasha! What do you owe him? For not ripping you to shreds and eating your flesh? I heard the stories, you know, loads of them. Just because he spared you this time doesn't make him good!"

She just stared at him. "You don't understand. He only does what people expect him to."

"Well, there you go. He's only nice to you because you expect it," Clint began, but her expression made him stop.

"That's just it, Clint. He didn't do as I expected. He was... kind to me. In his own way," she said quietly.

He made a disgusted sound. "Can you hear yourself? Look, I've rescued my share of girls in my time. I've seen this before. Some girls just accept their fate, try to make the best of it, and fool themselves into believing they love the man who wronged them - "

"He never wronged me!" Natasha nearly shouted. Her strength was returning, and with it, her temper.

At this, Clint stopped feeding the rope completely, and gave her a sharp look. "Swear to me, right now, that he never hurt you. Never laid a hand to you, or took advantage."

Natasha closed her eyes. Behind them she saw every untender caress, every brutal passion, and wondered how she could ever make him understand. "I swear to you that everything he did I desired, and enjoyed, and given the choice I would do it again." She opened her eyes once she had spoken, and saw that her answer made him very uncomfortable.

Instead of responding, Clint turned back to the pit and resumed lowering the harness, shaking his head as if wondering why he was doing this. At last, he came to the end of the rope. "Tug twice when you're secure!" He shouted down the pit. Then he turned and, with a sigh, held the rope out to Natasha. "It's up to you now," he said sadly. "I've done everything I can."

She stood, brushing her hands off on her dress. "Thank you, Clint. Loki won't say it, but he's grateful, too."

Natasha could see a muscle jump in Clint's jaw as he clenched it. "I don't care what he thinks. I didn't do it for him, Tasha, I did it for you." As he handed her the rope, he enveloped her hands within his own, leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead.

A wave of guilt washed over Natasha, and she tried to think of something to say. Her thoughts were interrupted by two tugs on the rope. She could figure out what to do with Clint when she had gotten Loki free. She took a deep breath, wrapped her hands around the rope, and pulled.

To her surprise, the rope came easily. Expecting more resistance, she nearly tumbled backwards.

Clint put out a hand to steady her. "He's probably climbing as far as he can manage," he guessed. "Here, pass the rope behind you so you won't drop the rope if he slips," he suggested.

Natasha pulled the rope behind her back, and Clint made an uncomfortable face. "Uh, no, it should go lower, or it will knock you over..."

She resisted the urge to make fun of his discomfort, and lowered the rope so it ran across the tops of her thighs. Clint nodded sharply, and then turned to watch down the shaft.

At first, it was just a matter of passing the rope through her hands, much like Clint had done to lower the harness. Slowly, though, it became more difficult, and she realized that Loki was likely beginning to have difficulties. She looked to Clint. "Ask if he's alright."

Clint lifted his eyebrows, but leaned over and shouted down, "How ya holding up down there?"

There was a pause, and then Loki's voice, sounding much closer than it had before, bounced back up to them. "Getting a bit difficult to breathe. Keep pulling!"

Natasha nodded, and began to put some of her weight into it. It was becoming difficult to pull it behind her, so she started walking backwards. Once she went back a few paces, she would slide back up the rope. She continued this way for some time, until she was leaning so hard she could barely pull. The black silk rope ran out, and the hemp rope bit painfully into her palms. Still she continued, Clint watching her nervously, uncomfortable that he could not help.

"Natasha, wait!" Suddenly Loki's voice came from the pit, sounding breathless and very close.

She stopped, gasping for air herself. "Loki?" she called.

"I can't... I can't breathe," he answered weakly.

Clint exchanged a look with her. "He made me promise to keep pulling, no matter what," she told him.

He glanced back at the pit, and walked over to peer down. "I can't see him, but he sounds close. Maybe it's a trick?"

Somehow, she doubted it, but she told herself he was probably right and began pulling again. After a moment, he called out again.

"No, wait! Natasha, _please_," he gasped.

She closed her eyes, trying to block it out. Pouring all of her attention into pulling, she fought to keep her footing. She stepped on a rock, and nearly fell, losing a good distance. Clint swore, and came to stand next to Natasha. He hesitated a moment more, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and then swore again. He tried to grab the rope, but his hand passed right through it. He stared at it a moment, and then his face lit up. Moving behind her, he wrapped his arms around her tightly. He planted his feet securely, took a deep breath, and then began to walk backwards. Inch by agonizing inch, they began to move, slowly at first, and then working up to a moderate speed.

By now, Loki was screaming in agony, and Clint felt drops of moisture on his arms - Natasha was crying. But still she pulled, saying nothing, until it felt as though Loki had caught on something - perhaps he was bracing himself against the tunnel.

"On the count of three, we'll give an extra tug," Clint ground out between clenched teeth. She nodded. "One, two, three!" They heaved with all their might, and suddenly the rope came free. Loki's cries were silenced, and for one horrible moment Natasha worried that the rope had snapped. But there was still weight on the rope, it was just far less than it had been before.

"I got it, go look," Natasha gasped, taking the rope and pulling it over her shoulder.

Clint ran back into the cave - they had pulled all the way out of it by now - and down into the pit. He could see something coming up the shaft, but it wasn't moving. At last Loki came into view, unconscious. Clint remained calm, since this was expected given his description. He reached down, took hold of Loki under the arms, and heaved with all his might.

"Damn, he's heavy," he grunted as he slid the awkward body over the lip of the shaft and onto the floor. He collapsed, exhausted, and Natasha fell to the ground on the other side, trying to wake Loki.

After shaking him a moment, she paused. "Clint..." she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"What?" He turned his head so he could see her, which took an incredible effort.

All the color had drained from her face. "He's not breathing."

* * *

_**A/N: **__Sooo... I decided I like cliffhangers. XD_

_Fun fact: Marvel official stats list Loki's weight as 530 lbs. Yes. Five hundred and thirty. Thor is like 680. So yeah, Clint, that's one hell of a heavy sack of potatoes._

_Hope you guys liked the movie tie-in, my hubby just rolled his eyes lol. Expect more chapters in the near future, I'm feeling newly inspired and I've moved finishing this story to the top of my priority list._

_Your reviews are like, the best thing ever. _


	14. Chapter 14

_Holy cow, you guys, another update! I know, you're all heartbroken lol._

* * *

Clint sat up, his muscles protesting. "What?"

Natasha held her hand above Loki's mouth, but felt nothing. "He's not breathing!" she sounded panicked now.

He cursed and ran a hand through his hair.

"What do I do?" she looked to him, frantic.

"I don't know, Tasha! The seer didn't say anything about this," He gestured to the still body between them.

Natasha tried to think, trying to remember every fairy tale and myth she had heard whispered in the dark in Russia. A thought popped into her head and she leaned forward to kiss him without hesitating.

His skin was cold, and he did not reply. Clint cleared his throat and she glared at him. "Well it was worth trying!" she shouted, close to tears once more.

Wisely, Clint said nothing.

She stared down at Loki, getting more frustrated by the minute. "Wake up!" she shouted, and slapped him across the face. His head tilted to the side, but it was only from the force of her strike.

"Tasha..." Clint said softly, and his voice, the resignation in it, pushed her over the edge.

"No!" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "Don't do this to me Loki!" She balled up her fists and beat them against his chest. "Don't you dare!"

"Shh, Tasha," He got up and came to kneel behind her. "Don't do that, come on," he tried to pull her back from Loki's body.

"No! No, no, no, no, NO!" She slammed her fists down on his chest with all her strength.

Suddenly, Loki gasped for air and then choked, his eyes flying open. Clint let go of Natasha in his surprise, and she threw herself at the prone god. One of his arms wrapped around her instinctively, while the other covered his mouth as he continued to cough.

"Don't you EVER do that to me again!" Natasha shouted through her tears.

Loki's coughs dissolved into laughter. "Alright. I can assure you I will do my best to avoid dying in the future," he managed to say, brushing a few curls out of her tear-stained face.

Clint, at a loss for words, stood. Loki glanced up at him, and removed his arm from around Natasha. She sat up, scrubbing her face with the heels of her hands, suddenly ashamed of her tears.

"I've made camp not far away," Clint said awkwardly "We should go."

Loki nodded, and Natasha and Clint helped him off the ground. Together, they trudged towards Clint's camp, although who was leaning on who was unsure, they were all so exhausted. They collapsed next to a bundle of twigs and logs, ready to be made into a fire, and for a few minutes just lay there breathing.

Natasha turned her head so she could look at Loki. He was staring up at the stars, eyes wide, a transcendent look on his face. She reached out to touch his hand, and he glanced at her, laughing.

"It's amazing. I haven't seen the night sky for an era, but it is still precisely as I remember it," he said, voice full of wonder.

She smiled a little, tired but happy. "Some things never change?" she guessed.

Clint, the first to recover, got up and started making the fire. Loki recovered once he had a tidy blaze going, sitting up and staring around him at the moonlit pasture. Spring had come to the land, and while it was still chilly the air was moist and full of life. He felt amazing. He turned to look at Natasha, still laying on the ground, half-dozing. He noticed that her palms were bleeding, angry red lines crossing them where the ropes had bit into them. Summoning the crystal bottle of healing oil, he moved to sit next to her and poured a little into each hand, massaging the wounds gently.

She murmured a sleepy thanks, and he smiled a little. "Sleep," he whispered. He waved a hand, and a bedroll and blanket appeared around her, as well as a second behind him.

Loki turned to find Clint watching them from across the fire. He was frowning, but what exactly he thought was hard to say. "Would you like one as well?" Loki gestured to his bedroll before sitting on it.

"Got my own, thanks," Clint said gruffly.

"Suit yourself," Loki said politely, and then laid down to get some much-needed rest.

Clint watched the fire, banking it so it would burn steadily through what was left of the night. He glanced at Natasha. In her sleep, she had reached out a hand, towards Loki, whose head was close to hers.

_The sooner he goes, the better_, Clint thought.

* * *

In the morning, Loki and Natasha awoke to find that Clint had been busy. He had shot a couple of rabbits, skinned them, cut them up, and had them roasting on a couple sticks stuck into the ground next to the fire.

Natasha sat up, feeling sore but well-rested. It was not an unfamiliar sensation, she thought with a wry smile. Clint, who seemed to think she was smiling at him, smiled back, and pulled one of the sticks out of the ground.

"Hungry?" he held it out to her.

She took it. "Thanks." She blew on the meat, waiting for it to cool, and pulled a chunk off carefully with her teeth. It was chewy, and not really done in the middle, but she was too hungry to care at the moment.

Loki sat up slowly, looking entirely too well put-together for first thing in the morning. When Clint made to hand him a stick of rabbit meat, he politely waved it away. Clint looked a little offended, and Natasha laughed.

"He doesn't eat," she explained, smiling.

He raised an eyebrow, looking at how thin Loki was. "Ever?" he guessed.

She laughed again. "Well, not often."

They sat in a somewhat comfortable silence as Natasha and Clint ate breakfast, and Loki drank in the scenery and the incredible sense of being free. When she had finished the rabbit, Natasha was still a little hungry, and she smiled when Loki handed her an apple when Clint wasn't looking.

"So where will you go, now that you're free?" Clint asked Loki conversationally.

Loki smiled and shrugged. "South. France, maybe. I hear it's beautiful this time of year." He gave Natasha a knowing look, which she returned. "What about you?"

Clint poked the embers of the fire with a stick. "I bought a farm, a ways south of here. It's a nice quiet place, where nobody knows us. I think we'll be very happy there."

Natasha stopped eating her apple and stared at Clint. "You... you bought a farm?" she managed to say.

He nodded. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said to me, about how I left you in Kuhmo and then just expected you to be there when I got back. I think it's time for me to settle down, find a better life. For both of us." He smiled at her sweetly.

Natasha continued to blink at him, and glanced at Loki, who sat staring down at his lap. She opened her mouth to relieve Clint of the delusion that she was going with him, when suddenly Loki sprang forward and snapped his fingers. She frowned at him, and then looked back at Clint, only to see that he was holding very, very still. Not even blinking.

"What did you do to him?" she asked, confused.

"What I did was prevent you from saying something you would regret," Loki explained. "He cannot see or hear us, and he will be unaware that anything has happened when I break the spell."

"Well then break it. I don't know why he thinks I'm going to go live on his farm, but I'm not, and he needs to know it," she said, still reeling from Clint's revelation.

Loki stared at her a long moment. "You really don't remember, do you?" he asked.

She frowned. "Remember what?"

"When he came to rescue you, the first time, you told him you would go with him," he explained.

"What?" Natasha tried hard to remember what they had said, but she was pretty sure she hadn't made any promises.

"You said, 'if you could find a way for both of us to leave, then I would go with you, I promise.' Those were the exact words you used," Loki said sadly.

Natasha sputtered. "But - I - I didn't mean _go_ with him, I meant leave the pit!"

He scowled at her. "Well you should have chosen your words better, because that is how he interpreted it," he gestured to the still-frozen figure of Clint.

"Well that's not my fault!" she was shocked that Loki was taking this so seriously.

"Natasha, you made him a deal. You said if he could do this thing, he could have you. He went out and spent two months of his life and most of his money to find a way to make that work. It wasn't easy for him, I know, I made sure of it! But he did!" Loki was nearly shouting now.

She just stared at him, and then shook her head. "No. I won't do it. I don't care what he did, I won't leave you," she began to realize that Loki meant for her to follow through on this perceived promise.

"He did what was required, despite all the obstacles. He deserves his reward," Loki said bitterly.

"I am not a... a _thing_ that can be won or bartered!" she spat.

He just got angrier. "Of course not! But he's a _good man_, Natasha, you have a shot at a good life with him!"

"I don't want a good man, Loki, I want you!" she yelled, and her voice broke with emotion on the last word.

This seemed to stop Loki in his tracks. He laughed breathlessly, and shook his head. He moved to sit next to her, and she fell into his arms. He held her there for a moment, stroking her hair. Then he spoke, in a low soft voice that held a world of heartbreak.

"Natasha, I am not a free man. Now that I have escaped my prison, I am a fugitive. Those who will seek to imprison me again are far more powerful than you can imagine. Even with all my magic I will not be able to stay long in any one place. You don't want to live like that, not again. I won't have it."

She tried to interrupt him, but he silenced her by pressing his fingertips softly against her lips. "He will give you a good life. You can be happy with him. I want that for you." He looked deep into her eyes, begging her to understand.

"But, Loki... I don't love him. And..." her voice caught in her throat.

"Shh. Don't say it," he closed his eyes tightly.

"You don't know what I'm going to say," she said stubbornly.

"Yes, I do." He leaned his forehead against hers. "I can feel it, in every particle of you. And I..." he let out a shuddering breath. "I never thought I could feel that way about someone." He leaned down and kissed her, the sweetest, softest kiss they had ever shared. And yet, there was more passion and longing behind it than any other.

After it ended, they held each other for a long moment. From Loki's arms, Natasha watched the wind blow Clint's hair around. He sat like a statue, the warm sweet smile he had smiled at her frozen on his expression. Maybe he did love her, she thought. Would she ever be happy without Loki? Could she possibly learn to love Clint and forget about the last two months? It seemed impossible.

At last, Loki began to pull away from her. "Don't go," she begged.

He sighed heavily, and took her hand, kissed it. "I must. If the spell is left too long he may notice the change in the angle of the sun."

Natasha sniffed, and nodded. He moved to find the exact place he had been sitting, and she took a moment to compose herself. _I can do this_, she told herself._ I can make any man believe I love him._

"Ready?" Loki asked.

She nodded, afraid to speak. She blinked, and then so did Clint. He looked confused for a moment, but then smiled again.

"You'll love it. There's a house built already, and a big tree next to it. There are wild plum trees near the edge of the forest, and we can pick them in the fall," he said cheerfully.

"It sounds wonderful," Natasha forced herself to say. Her voice sounded hollow to her, but Clint seemed not to notice.

There was a long, awkward pause where no one spoke, Clint seemingly oblivious to the unspoken emotion that hovered in the air. Loki stood, brushing off his cloak.

"I should be going," he said. "My escape may have alerted my jailers, and I must put some distance behind me."

Clint nodded. "Safe travels," he said.

"Thank you," Loki said graciously. "And thank you for your... assistance."

Natasha stood as well. "Are you sure? There's nothing we could do for you?" she tripped a little over the word 'we' but it went without notice.

Loki looked at her carefully. "Any _debt_ you may have owed me you more than paid with your labor to bring me up last night." From the look on his face, Natasha knew that he meant these words to sting, to make the parting easier for her. It didn't work.

"Will I... will you ever come back here?" she asked.

"Gods, no," Loki laughed harshly. But she could see he knew what she meant. "Here," he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, ornate hand mirror. It looked like a tiny companion to the one that had hung in their room. "If you wonder where I am, or how I fare, this will show you."

She took the mirror. "Thank you. And..." she glanced at the ground, trying to think of a way to phrase what she wanted to say without alerting Clint. "And I hope you find some happiness, too."

He smiled his devil-may-care smile. "Everything has a price, Natasha Romanoff. Even happiness." And with that, he disappeared.

Clint let out a bark of surprised laughter. "Showy bastard," he said appreciatively.

Natasha sat on the ground, every ounce of her being focused on hiding her broken heart. She plastered what she hoped was a convincing smile. "Yes, that's Loki all right."

He began to tell her his plans for their journey to his farm, and she let her mind wander. She glanced up at the sun, squinting at the unfamiliar brightness. A day ago, she was happy. She hadn't known it, but she was. Now, she wasn't sure what happiness lay ahead for her, at any price.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Sooo... originally this is where I was going to end the story. But then I decided that was a post-modernist, douchebag move. So there's more, I promise. But I am crazy busy at the moment with the end of the school year, trying to find a new job, and my sister's wedding (which is next weekend). So it might be a while before I post again. Or maybe not, I don't know. We'll see. Stay tuned!_

_I looooove all of your reviews, btw. They give me a happy._


	15. Chapter 15

_I accidentally another chapter. ^.^_

* * *

Natasha picked the cleared plate off the table and placed it in the tub of dirty water mechanically. She would scrub it later, when she was done packing the preserves that were currently simmering over the fire.

Clint leaned back and scowled at the view out the open door. The sky had grown cloudy as he had eaten his lunch. "Looks like it might rain," he pointed out the obvious, as he liked to do. "We should get all the hay in today, before it hits." His use of the word 'we' meant that he wanted Natasha to come help him. She had learned this much, in the past six months.

She sighed and rubbed her now-calloused hands on her apron. Putting up hay was her new least favorite task, and she had collected quite a lot of those. "I'll come out once I've packed the preserves and cleaned the dishes," she said dully. She had never imagined a farm would take so much _work_. It was good, honest work, and to some extent she was glad to have it. There was a certain kind of sleep, dreamless and deep, which could only be achieved by dropping into bed in a state of profound exhaustion. But she wasn't used to living like this, even half a year, and it was taking a toll on her slight frame.

Clint claimed it would be better in the winter, when there was less work to be done. But when Natasha looked forward to the colder months, all she saw were endless days cooped up in the house with him.

Now he stood, came around the table, and kissed her cheek. She accepted this gesture of affection - he was generous with them - without comment, and he left equally silently.

Once he had gone, Natasha let out a breath. Lately the act she put on, 'the happy little farmer's wife,' as she thought of it, was harder than ever to maintain. She sat in the chair opposite the one Clint had vacated, and put her hands in her face.

_This isn't working_, she thought, as she thought a thousand times every day. _It's better than sleeping for coins,_ she answered herself back, rallying the worn defense out of habit more than anything. It was true, though, it was much better than selling herself in the streets. Clint loved her, that much he had proved, and he had provided her with everything she could possibly need. He worked hard to keep the farm going, and never shouted or raised a hand to her when she was occasionally cruel to him.

But she didn't love him. She had tried, oh how she had tried. But no matter how kind and generous Clint was, she held his every action in comparison to another. Was it fair to compare the food he labored to provide to a magical feast produced with the wave of an elegant hand? No, but the comparison was made, anyway. Did it do any good to compare Clint's eager but unimaginative lovemaking to the exquisite pleasure she had felt before? Not in the slightest.

Natasha took a deep breath, and then stood to check the wild plum preserves. They seemed ready, if her ten-miles-distant neighbor's badly written description of the process was to be trusted. She swung the heavy cauldron out into the room, and gathered up the clay jars she had prepared in boiling water earlier that day. As she methodically ladled the preserves out, her mind lingered on the subject.

It was not that Clint was a bad lover. He was attractive, slightly better endowed than the average man, and had enough experience to know how to please an ordinary woman, in all the obvious ways. But he treated her as if she were a fragile thing, a bloom that would be crushed if he became too vigorous. Not that he seemed motivated to be so, his was a passion that burned steady and low, never flaring up or ebbing. She had tried to suggest, once, that he might take greater liberties with her if he liked. He had just looked at her as if she had asked that they do it on the ceiling.

But she had told herself that this was not everything there was to a relationship. Surely there were other ways in which she could forge a connection with him. She had tried telling him stories, many of which she remembered from her childhood, her journeys, and the wonderful library. He seemed interested at first, but he always asked the wrong questions, calling out anything fantastic or magical as being unlikely (despite their common experiences). Any flaw or lapse in explanation would be found, dissected, and the story judged inferior. It was maddening.

He would, in turn, regale her with stories of his own adventures, or of his dreams for the future. Most of the latter category involved the many children she would have, and she often caught him staring at her thin waist with a critical, hopeful eye. But no child had come, not yet. There had been one time, not two months after they had come to the farm, that Natasha had thought she might be pregnant. Her body, never terribly reliable in its cycles, had held her in a fearful state for three solid weeks. She was terrified by the idea of having a child, of dying in childbirth, as so many of her too-young sisters had. Her sense of relief when she finally bled had been euphoric, the first and only glimpse of happiness she had experienced in her new life. That the child would have been Clint's and not... not _his_ had only made things worse. She should have known then that she would never come to love him, not like...

She scowled as she poured the last of the wax into the top of the last jar. _Don't think about it_, she reminded herself. The only way she had managed over the past six months was to think as little as possible about what had come before. If she could just forget it, she thought, then it wouldn't bother her so much. But the strain of hiding her grief - for that was what she felt - was becoming too much.

Natasha stood in the doorway to their tiny dirt-floor house and stared up at the bruised sky. It was definitely going to rain. She should go out to the field and help Clint as quickly as possible. But something, some antagonistic urge she had begun to feel towards her husband, kept her in the house. Putting up the hay would be hard work, her dress might get torn, she thought. She had another, two actually, an unheard-of luxury in these parts, aside from the one that she had worn when...

Suddenly her mind took a sharp dive into forbidden territory, as it sometimes did when she came upon an unexpected reminder of her time before the farm. She had been going through a mental inventory of her clothes, wondering if she should put on her worst dress to work, or go out there in her nice dress, which she wore, so Clint would have to tell her to go back and change, when she remembered the green woolen dress that was tucked away in the bottom of their clothes trunk. She had put it there, along with the small mirror, when they had first arrived, and she had not looked at it since.

Now, she could think of nothing but the dress. She was gripped by the idea that perhaps it didn't really exist, that none of it had, and she had made it all up. Running into the other room, she flung open the chest, and quickly stacked it's contents on the bed. First her work dress and the second nice dress from one side, and Clint's two nice shirts and fancy breeches from the other. Then came a collection of underthings, both his and hers. Below that was a finely embroidered tablecloth, for company, which she had never used. Everyone else in this area had lived on their farms for generations, and she, being new and foreign, was universally shunned.

She pulled up the edge of the cloth, just enough to see a little corner of green fabric. But that was not enough, and she reached into the depths of the trunk to feel its softness. She rubbed the material between her fingers, remembering the way it felt to wear it, to slide it off her shoulders slowly, or have it pushed roughly up out of the way by his impatient fingers.

Anger flashed in her mind at that thought. Clint would never do such a thing, he was always careful when undressing her. A strange idea formed in her mind, of going out to put up the hay in _this_ dress, which was suited to neither the work nor the weather. What would he do? Would he become angry? Without thinking, she lifted the dress out of the trunk and held it against her body. As she did so, something tumbled out of it and onto the ground.

Natasha looked - it was the mirror. Had it landed face down, she would have wrapped it back in the dress, shoved everything back in the trunk, and ran out to help Clint. But it had landed face up.

She had never looked in the mirror, not once in six long months. She was afraid to see him, afraid that watching his happiness - perhaps in the arms of another woman - would crush the last remaining pieces of her heart.

But what she saw was much worse than that. She could only see his face, his achingly beautiful face, but she could tell he was alone, if not in body than in spirit. No one could ever look so dejectedly lost with another soul nearby. She bent to pick up the mirror, her heart flooding with all the feelings she had tried so desperately to chase from it.

"Oh, Loki," she breathed, the first she had ever dared to say his name since that fateful day outside the pit.

Outside, the sky was split with a spear of lightning, immediately followed by a clap of thunder. The wind picked up out of nowhere, blowing in the door and scattering chaff about the room. Natasha frowned, tearing her gaze away from the mirror. There was something in the air, a taste like... _magic_. She stood, and walked to the door in a trance. Had she somehow summoned the object of her longing...?

Instead, she saw two strange figures facing the house, a man and a woman. The man was enormous, taller than any Natasha had ever seen, with long blonde hair and arms as thick as tree trunks. He held in one hand a giant warhammer, and though he scowled he looked to have an open, honest, beautiful face. The woman was dark where he was light, with long, streaming black hair and an elaborate red dress.

"Who are you?" she asked, although she thought she knew the answer, at least in part.

"I am Thor, son of Odin, and this is Karnilla, high priestess and queen of the Norns," said the man in a booming voice.

Natasha recognized the names from the book she had once found. "Why are you here?" Again, she was fairly sure she knew what he would say.

"We are looking for Loki Laufeyson," the woman spoke, and her voice was dark and liquid.

"Why?"

But this time, she was surprised. The man looked suddenly sad. "He is my brother, if not by birth then in spirit. I am concerned for him."

She folded her arms, not totally convinced. "He's not here," she said defiantly, chin raised.

"We know that, child," the woman, Karnilla, said kindly. "We want you to help us find him."

Natasha's heart soared at the thought of seeing Loki again, but she kept her features still. "Why should I help you?" she asked, angry. "You're just going to put him back in that pit, aren't you?"

Thor chuckled, obviously amused by her brave candor. "That would be incredibly foolish," he said, "since he has already escaped. No, we do not intend to imprison him again."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then what _do_ you intend to do, and why should I help you?"

Thor looked to Karnilla, uncomfortable. It was clear he was not accustomed to being questioned by a woman, especially not a mortal.

"Loosing Loki on this realm has had far-reaching consequences," the priestess-queen said. "Everywhere he goes, chaos and violence follow. It's never his intention, but everything he touches is tainted with his magics, and is never the same."

Natasha could not deny the truth of her words. "Like me?" she asked sadly.

Karnilla nodded, a look of understanding on her face. "We did nothing, at first," she went on, "It is the duty of the Norns to observe the patterns in the fabric of time, not change them. But soon it was clear that this pattern would cause much damage. He has stumbled upon something, an idea, and if he supports it, it will change the balance of things. Heroes which should have saved this realm and others will never be born."

She frowned, confused. "He's only been gone six months, how much damage could he have done?"

Both of the gods smiled, and Thor chuckled. "My brother can do quite enough mischief in six months, however..." he trailed off, once again looking to Karnilla.

"You already know that we are not from this realm," she guessed. "But we are also not from this time."

Natasha blinked. It was easy enough to believe they were gods, it was not much more difficult to imagine they could travel through time. "So... you came here, to this time, why?"

Karnilla gestured to the mirror Natasha still held. "Loki has hidden himself from us with his magic. You are the only one who can find him, with that. In addition, we think that you may be able to influence him away from his current path."

"You want me to distract him," Natasha deduced.

Thor laughed, long and loud. "Yes, you could put it that way."

She was not phased. "And what's in it for me?"

At this, the gods stared at her, at a loss. "Your happiness?" Thor suggested.

"I am a married woman," she said, and her voice full of resolve if not conviction. "I have a duty to my husband. I cannot leave him, no matter my feelings towards... towards another." She could not bring herself to say his name.

Karnilla stepped forward, holding out a hand for the mirror. "Let me show you your life, if you choose to remain here," she said.

Natasha was reluctant to give her the mirror, but her curiosity won her over. She held it out, and Karnilla took hold of one edge, but did not pull it from her hands. In the glass, Natasha saw herself and Clint, seated by the fire. Time passed quickly, and over the years she saw herself become more bitter, lashing out at Clint at the slightest provocation. Clint, in turn, was haunted by his own inability to make her happy, insecurity turning him into a hunched, sad man. No children came, and he died without an heir, leaving Natasha alone on a farm she hated.

"That's..." her breath caught in her throat. "You can't know it will be like that," Natasha protested. She looked up into the goddess's night-black eyes, and suddenly knew that she _did_. "But... what will happen to him, if I leave?" she did not love Clint, but she did feel a sense of gratitude towards him... another debt not yet paid.

Another image appeared in the mirror, Clint, completely distraught by her disappearance. A neighbor, the young daughter of one of Clint's fellow farmers, had come by the house to borrow something, and found him sobbing at the table. She offered him comfort, innocent and pure. She watched the years pass, as the girl's friendship and concern blossomed into love, as her love healed Clint's heartbreak. They married, and she gave him three beautiful children. At the end of their lives, they sat at the same fireplace, happy and surrounded by love. It was exactly what Clint had described to her a hundred times, only... it wasn't her.

Blinking back tears, Natasha looked up at the gods. There really was no choice, was there? "What do I have to do?"

* * *

_**A/N: **__So, after posting chapter 14 I remembered that I had originally planned for Natasha to be the one who chose to go with Clint, because she felt she owed him for helping them and because of the promise she made before she fell in love with Loki. Should I go back and change it, now that you've all read it? I don't know. I'm torn. That decision would have made this one more important, and now it seems arbitrary. *sigh* I'd love to hear your input on the matter._


	16. Chapter 16

_You guys are all awesome. Stay tuned for the author's note for special thanks._

* * *

Karnilla smiled. "First, is there anything you must do before we leave?" she asked.

Natasha nodded, and ran back into the house. She quickly changed into the green woolen dress, and packed a few necessities in a small bundle. Then she thought that maybe she should leave some sort of note for Clint. She didn't want him thinking that she had been carried off or something, and go searching for her.

She snatched a twig from the fire, blew it out, and turned over the scrap of paper that had the directions for the plum preserves written on it. She froze, trying to think of what she should say. Shaking her head, she just wrote the first thing that came to mind.

_I can't. I'm sorry. I tried._

And with that she ran out of the house, not even bothering to shut the door. She came upon Thor and Karnilla locked in a quiet argument.

"I know, but it seems unfair, to show her such a thing, and not explain that it might not -" Thor stopped midsentence as he caught sight of Natasha approaching. Karnilla laid a hand on his arm and said something in return too quietly for her to hear. He didn't look relieved, but rather resolved not to push the issue further.

She pretended not to have seen the disagreement, but filed the information away for later. "Alright, I'm ready," she said.

Karnilla turned and looked over the small bundle and woolen dress. "You travel light, that is good." She held out her hand, "We will use the mirror to take you where he is," she said.

Natasha fished the mirror out of the bundle, a moment of hesitation seizing her. "And you swear you aren't just trying to catch him so you can lock him up again?" she asked.

The priestess-queen said nothing, pressing her lips together, but Thor stepped forward. "I swear to you, my lady, no one is going to imprison Loki again, unless he earns it once more."

She looked from one to the other, at Karnilla's obvious reservation and Thor's brash confidence, and realized that Loki's self-proclaimed brother did not know everything. Something would happen, something Karnilla must have glimpsed in the future, that she knew that Thor would not like. She knew better than to ask, she doubted an answer would be given, and it may draw Thor's suspicion. If she ever wanted to see Loki, she had to go now, and the consequences be damned.

Holding the mirror out, Natasha squared her shoulders. Six months ago, Loki had given her no choice in following him, and she had regretted it ever since. Time to set things right.

Karnilla placed her hands on either side of the mirror, not quite touching it. "Now, focus on Loki, on where he is. Your desire to join him will be the star by which we travel." Her voice held a mesmerizing cadence, deep and resonant as if they stood in a bell.

The mirror flashed, and she could see Loki again, sleeping now with his face pressed against a crumpled sheet. Even in sleep he looked distraught, a line creasing the skin between his brows. How much she wished she could kiss it away, how she longed to be tucked under his arm which dangled off the side of the bed.

"Yes," Karnilla breathed, "Focus on it," she encouraged her.

All around her, the world seemed to drop away. She looked down to see the farm far below her, and absently wondered if Clint would get the hay in before the rain came.

"Focus!" the resonant voice was in her mind now, and suddenly she was surrounded by light.

* * *

Out in the fields Clint leaned on the pitchfork and glanced up at the sky. That was the second bolt of lightning, it would rain any minute now. Where was Natasha? He sighed, frustrated, and went back to work.

* * *

When the light cleared, Natasha saw that they were standing in a city. It was dark, and in the distance a church bell rang twice and then silenced. The houses all around her looked as if they had once been very fine - better than the best she had ever seen - but had long since seen better days.

"Now," Karnilla said, far less distracted by their surroundings than she or Thor, "You will need this," she reached out a long, slender finger and pressed it to the middle of Natasha's forehead. Suddenly, her mind was full of words and phrases she had never before heard or spoken, but she understood them all. "C'est le langue de ce pays," she explained.

Natasha blinked, and then translated. _This is the language of this land_. "Je comprends," she answered in kind, surprised to hear the words tumble from her lips._ I understand_.

"Good," she responded, still speaking the new language. "This is as close as we can manage to bring you," she said. "He is somewhere in this city, probably very close to here, but we cannot see his exact location, that information is still hidden from us."

She frowned, still trying to wrap her brain around the new language. Now, when Karnilla said 'we' there was a different nuance to it... did she speak of herself, in the royal plural? Or did it refer to some other party? She did not think the priestess-queen meant Thor. "What... what am I supposed to do?" she asked.

"Find him," Karnilla said simply. "When you do, you must tell him nothing of us, or the spell that brought you here will shatter." She drew back, and Natasha realized they were leaving her there.

"Wait," she called. "How am I supposed to find him? Can't you help me?"

"I am sorry, my lady..." Thor paused, realizing he didn't even know her name.

"Natasha," she filled in.

"Lady Natasha, we have helped you all we can. I wish we could do more, but..." Strangely, his words seemed the same as before, although her mind heard them as her new tongue.

"We must go now," Karnilla said sharply, glancing up at the cloudy night sky.

"I wish you the best of luck!" Thor called optimistically.

There was a flash of light, a clap of thunder, and they were gone.

_Wonderful_, Natasha thought sarcastically, realizing as she did so that even her thoughts had changed, the words fluid and beautiful and strange. _I don't even know where I am_, she looked around, miserable._ You are in a city_, she reminded herself, the same instincts that had kept her alive for years on the run kicking in, _and all cities are much the same_. Looking down the narrow road she was on, she saw that one end led to a wider street. She followed this to another, and another. The roads twisted and turned at odd angles, and she was quickly lost. She didn't worry about it too much, since she hadn't known where she was to start with. As long as she didn't wander too far, she would be fine.

At last she left the residential area and came to what looked like a market. Everything was closed, but her stomach rumbled at the lingering smell of food. It had been a long time since she had been truly hungry, and she realized with a sinking feeling that she would soon be familiar with it once more. She should have thought to bring some money, although on second thought, if she had it may not have held value here.

_Well I can always get money_, she thought darkly, and looked around. One end of the market looked slightly shabbier than the other, and she went that direction, following the decline in taste and materials until she found the part of the city that never slept. There were lights here, lamps burning on either side of the street, and Natasha thought it was the nicest slum she had ever seen. She could see inside the buildings through enormous glass windows, and the interiors were lit as bright as day by strange, glowing bulbs that hung from the ceiling by wires. Natasha suddenly wondered where, or rather when she was. So much had changed, would she be able to manage?

She heard the sound of men's laughter down the street, and saw two men leaving a building, strange music pouring out into the night with them. They nearly ran into another group, these little more than boys, who seemed to be dragging one of their members along rather unwillingly. His face was red and embarrassed.

"First time?" one of the first two men guessed.

"Yeah! Poor bugger doesn't know which end of a lady to kiss and which to poke!" a drunk young man cried.

The older men laughed "You have to pick one? I thought they were interchangeable!" joked the other.

"Ask for Heloise," the first suggested. "She'll take good care of you!" He patted the embarrassed boy's head, and they parted ways.

Natasha sighed. She knew what kind of house the boys were walking into, and knew she had a much better chance there than on the street. She followed them in, waiting quietly in the shadows as they talked with a plump woman in an impossibly short dress - the proprietress she guessed. Once they had gone up the stairs, laughing and singing bawdy songs, she stepped forward.

The woman raised her delicate drawn-on eyebrows at the sight of her. "Well, now, don't you look like something from a fairy tale, n'est pas?" She chuckled. "I'm afraid we don't have the thing for you, I recommend La Rose Bleu, two streets over. There you'll find plenty of girls who'd like to keep you company."

Natasha laughed in spite of her situation, the woman seemed much kinder than the matrons she was familiar with. "I'm not a customer," she explained. "I need work."

The woman sighed. "Fallen on hard times? Let me guess. Some rich, attractive man swept you up from some backwater village, promised to show you the Big City, and then found something else to amuse him once you got here?"

Natasha blinked. "Close enough," she lied.

The woman sighed shook her head. "Now, I'm not saying we won't take you, but you still have a few things to sell before your virtue," she suggested.

Lifting her head in a haughty gesture Natasha said, "I've done this sort of work before," as if she were proud of it.

"Ouais? I believe you..." she didn't look quite convinced. "It's hard to get out of, once you start," she warned.

This was enough to lower her spirits. "I know. But it's better than farm work," she said sullenly.

This made the proprietress laugh heartily. "Ain't that the truth? Or factory work, either. Just as like to catch your death caught up in them machines as from the clap here," she sighed. "Still, you don't know that your monsieur won't come looking for you, and he won't be happy if you've shared your favors, will he?"

Natasha sighed. Perhaps a little more truth was in order. "He... he doesn't know I'm in the city. I came here looking for him. It's how he came to know me, anyway."

The matron frowned and sighed. "Ah, love. It doesn't come easy for us, does it?" She glanced down at Natasha's waist. "You're not in trouble, are you? Because I know someone who can take care of that."

"No," she said quickly. "But I have no money and nothing to eat."

"You just arrived in town?" she guessed.

She nodded.

"Well," the matron stood up from the counter she was leaning on. "You may find him yet, then. I tell you what. I know someone who would pay very good money for those curls of yours. If you'll give me that fancy dress you're wearing - I'll find you another - I'll let you stay the night and feed you in the morning, and give her a ring."

Natasha fingered her hair and wondered why the woman would give this person jewelry. "My hair?" she asked meekly.

The proprietress laughed again. "You don't need all of it, darling! Look," she picked up a thinly bound book with no cover, that was full of illustrations. One showed a girl with very short hair, no longer than her chin, in a similar short dress to the one the plump woman wore. "They say it's all the rage in America."

She had no idea where this town of America was, but the girl did look attractive, draped as she was on the arm of a sharply-dressed gentleman. "Alright, I guess."

"Good girl," she said, and it sounded like the phrase passed her lips frequently. "What's your name?"

"Natasha B-" she caught herself at the last moment. "Natasha Romanova," she said instead.

"Very fancy, it's a nice choice," she nodded, obviously thinking it was an assumed name. "I'm called Francine. Let's see if we can find you a bed that's not being used."

* * *

'The morning' turned out to be more like early afternoon. Natasha understood why the girls all slept so late, but how was another question altogether. From the street outside came a racket like she had never imagined. When she looked out the dingy window, she could see that it was crowded with all sorts of people, carriages, horses, and even strange, two-wheeled contraptions that some of the young men rode around on. She buried her head under the pillow and tried to go back to sleep.

Once the house was up and running again, Natasha was treated to a veritable feast. There were pastries of all sorts to be had, as well as fruit and even some fresh bread.

"I know it's not much, but..." Francine said, more out of habit than truth. She didn't even bother to finish the thought. "I called Sabine and she said she'd be over at two o'clock, alright?"

Natasha nodded, running her fingers through her hair nervously. They had let her wash it early that morning with exquisite perfumed soap. She was going to miss it.

Two o'clock came sooner than she would have liked. One of the other girls had found her a lightly faded green dress, which was not quite so scandalously short as the others, but still was rather revealing. Although fairly shapeless, it clung to her shoulders by straps thinner than her fingers.

Sabine turned out to be a rather old wig maker, her hair a surprising shade of yellow. On closer inspection, Natasha realized that she was wearing her own wares. She chuckled at Natasha's inspection, the papery skin around her eyes and lips crinkling.

"Mon Dieu, but he gave you quite the gift, didn't he?" She asked, fingering Natasha's curls with an impersonal and knowing hand.

Natasha chose not to say much, still very nervous. She had thought she had sold herself before, and realized that she had only been renting her body. Actually parting with something of hers seemed far more violating, somehow.

"We were thinking something like this," Francine showed her friend the picture in the magazine - as it was called, she had learned - and the old woman nodded.

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "You'll look like quite the vamp with that bob! Now," She pulled up a chair and patted the seat. "Don't worry, ma petite chou, this won't hurt, and you'll like the look of it when I'm done. Trust me."

Strangely, there was something about the old woman that did make Natasha want to trust her. She just seemed like a terribly nice person. She sat down, and closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the shears working. She could still hear them though, and could feel the gentle tug of Sabine's talented fingers. She hummed as she worked, and slowly Natasha's head began to feel strangely lighter.

"There!" she said when she had done cutting. Natasha opened her eyes to see a pile of her russet hair tied up on the table next to her. She reached up to touch what was left, and Sabine swatted her hand away. "I'm not done yet, deary. Give me just a minute."

Natasha sat patiently as Sabine fixed her hair, all the while explaining how to do it herself to get the look of sleek waves she had seen in the drawing. At last she stood back, and glanced at Francine. "What do you think?" she asked her friend.

Francine glanced up from the large, thin pieces of paper she was reading and smiled. "Perfect. Go have a look in the front hall," she suggested.

Her heart in her throat, Natasha went through a series of rooms to find the enormous mirror that hung in the entryway. It was dark and spotted with age, but in its face she could see the figure of a young, attractive woman who she almost didn't recognize as herself at first. The dress didn't do much for her curves, but it showed more of her shapely legs than she had ever seen. She focused on her body, hesitant to look at what was left of her hair.

When she finally worked up the courage, she was surprised. Sabine had not cut it quite as short as the illustration, and while it started as the wavy look, the ends of it were left to curl and flip under. Touching it lightly, she found she liked the look of it. It framed her face in a way the longer curls had not, and the lightness of it allowed it to fan out a little. It looked... fierce. A la mode, the phrase came to mind.

Relieved, she walked back through the house to the kitchen where Sabine was packing her things away. "Well?" she asked kindly, handing her a small stack of paper.

"I like it," Natasha admitted. She turned the paper over in her hands, guessing it was money, although how much she was unsure.

"Oh, good," Sabine beamed, showing surprisingly nice teeth for such an old woman. They seemed odd, somehow, but she couldn't put her finger on why.

"Aha!" Francine suddenly shouted, startling them both. "Listen to this, little Natasha, I may have found you a better job!" She laid the pieces of paper out on the table and the three of them leaned over it.

"The Atelier d'Hiver is looking for Les Roux," she read. "Models will be paid by the hour. Please apply at 216 Rue de Temple, suite 400."

Winter studio? Natasha thought. And they're looking for redheads specifically?

"Isn't the Atelier d'Hiver the workshop where that crazy man Lucas Lafoy does his paintings?" Sabine asked scornfully.

"I think so! Oh, I loved his advertisement for the new department store on le Rue de Triomphe," Francine gushed.

Sabine rolled her eyes. "I don't think he's all that talented. He just paints the same woman, over and over, the same silly red-headed tart on every ad and poster."

Francine looked truly offended, and was clearly a great fan. "She's his muse! His Sara Bernhardt!"

Sabine was about to make a rebuttal, clearly enjoying a good squabble with her friend, but Natasha finally found her voice and interrupted.

"What did you say his name was?" she breathed.

Both of the women turned to look at her, for although she had spoken quietly, there was a depth of emotion behind her words.

"Lucas Lafoy?" Sabine repeated.

Francine, on the other hand, was regarding Natasha as if seeing her for the first time. "Sabine, give me your shears," she said, suddenly serious.

"Hmm?" the old woman fished them out of her bag absently, and Francine's plump fingers snatched them up before she could object, and started cutting out the ad. "Alors! Those are my best scissors! They are not for cutting paper!" she nearly screeched.

"Oh, hush," Francine dodged away from her friend's thin hands, quickly snipping the ad out in a few swift strokes. "It's only newsprint, it won't hurt a thing." She let Sabine get the scissors only when she was done, ignoring her protests. She swept out of the room, coming back quickly with a coat and hat, clearly excited. She wrapped the coat around Natasha - she nearly swam in it - and tucked the hat carefully over her new hairdo. Lastly, she pressed the scrap of newspaper into her hand.

"You're her, aren't you?" the matron asked breathlessly. "You're Lucas Lafoy's muse!"

This silenced Sabine's muttering complaints, and she now looked at Natasha with wide eyes.

Natasha swallowed. "I think so."

Francine clapped her hands excitedly. "Then you must go! Here's how to get to the Rue de Temple..."

* * *

_**A/N: **__Phew! A lot happens in this chapter, doesn't it? I loved writing Francine and Sabine, they were so much fun I may have to stick them in another story somewhere. the Rue de Temple is a nod to the Red Necklace, which every good Tom Hiddleston fan should listen to._

_Now, for some seriously deserved thanks. You guys are all so awesome, I received so much support after I posted my comment last time about whether I should change the story. When I started writing this story, it was really just an outlet for smut since there wasn't much of it in Anima Complex. It's developed into something more than that, and I think all of your fabulous feedback is part of that. An especially big thanks to StarTrekFanWriter who took the time and effort to explain *why* the story was better left as it is, which really helped. But I appreciated each and every one of your comments. Things have been really rough for me lately, and they were like little drops of sunshine in a cloudy, rainy day._

_I already have half of chapter 17 written, so it shouldn't be too long before you get more!_


	17. Chapter 17

Natasha looked at the scrap of newspaper in her hand, and then up at the grand building before her. The number matched. Finally. Francine's instructions had been very detailed, but the streets of Paris - for that was the name of this city, she had learned - were very confusing, and overrun with traffic. She had nearly been run over by a carriage that had no horse in front of it! She had seen several of them, and wondered how they possibly worked, but this one seemed to be going faster than any carriage had a right to be. She wondered if it was magic.

Shaking her head, she pushed open the door and stepped into a hallway with numbered doors on either side. The number in the ad Francine had given her said 400, which meant she should go upstairs. There was no staircase to be seen, but at the far end of the hallway was a strange opening with an intricate gate over it. She walked to the gate, and saw that beyond it was an open shaft that dropped away. She swallowed, reminded of the pit.

The strange sound of machinery, quickly becoming familiar to Natasha, suddenly came from above, and she looked up to see that something was coming down the shaft from the upper floors. She stepped back, surprised, as a something like a tiny room descended. The young man within smiled and pulled a lever before opening the gate for her.

"Which floor mam'selle?" he asked cheerfully.

"Um… Fourth, I think…" she glanced at the paper again.

"Ah, les roux, yes? You're for the atelier. Come on, then," he gestured for her to step into the box with him.

She did so cautiously, and looked around for something to hang onto. The boy chuckled. "First time in an elevator?" he guessed. He pulled the lever carefully so that it rose smoothly. In a matter of moments, they had reached the fourth floor.

"There you are then," he said kindly, opening the gate once more. She stepped out hurriedly. "And good luck, I hear the mad artist has a bad temper." He winked.

_The mad artist? That must be what they're calling him now…_ she thought faintly. Strangely, it brought a smile to her lips._ Better that than the mad god_. She found the door with the right number, and lifted her hand to knock before noticing it was shaking. She took a deep breath, swallowed, and knocked.

A familiar voice, cursing, sounded from within. "What is it?" he shouted angrily through the door.

She opened the door, peeking within. There he stood, facing away from her. She would recognize his silhouette anywhere. A large canvas stood before him, half worked. As she stepped into the room, she saw many more leaning against the walls, some blank, some painted. The finished ones all depicted redheaded women, like the one who sat in front of him now, mostly naked.

"I… I saw your advertisement for redheaded models," she said quietly.

"Yes, well I've already got one, so you'll just have to wait," he said bad-temperedly, still not turning around. He cursed again. "How many times do I have to tell you to hold still?" he scolded.

The copper-haired beauty huffed. "But I'm uncomfortable! Why don't you just take a daguerreotype like all the other artists?"

"Because," the artist said through clenched teeth. "It's the color I need to see. Not that your hair could really be considered red."

The girl simpered and slouched. The artist's body went rigid, and even from behind him Natasha could read the anger written there.

"You must pretend you are a statue," she said suddenly, and rushed forward to the dais, before he could turn and see her face. She placed a gentle hand to the girl's back, and lifted her arm in the upraised gesture she had glimpsed on the unfinished painting. "Imagine you must be perfectly still, or something very terrible will happen to you," she suggested. She gave her a look to mean that it probably would.

The girl glanced behind Natasha, her eyes widening, and then she froze in the expected posture. Behind her, Natasha could hear slow footsteps as the artist left his canvas.

"You…" he breathed.

Slowly, very slowly, she turned around. There stood Loki, dressed in the finery of this strange new era, his hair cut and slicked back. And yet—and yet, it was if he had not changed, nor had she. She stood, the sunlight from the open window picking out fiery highlights in her hair.

"Me," she agreed softly.

His face remained incredulous. "How…?"

She shook her head. "I can't tell you."

He stood silent a moment longer, and then glanced behind her for half a second. "Take your clothes and go," he ordered to the model.

"But—" the girl objected, snatching up her blouse, "you haven't paid me!"

Eyes still locked on Natasha's, he dug out his wallet, fished out a couple pieces of paper, and held them extended. She didn't know much about this new world, but from the numbers it was clearly a lot of money.

The girl hopped down from the dais, looked from Loki to Natasha, took the bills and ran. The door slammed shut, but he still stood there, tapping the end of his paint brush against his fine woolen pant leg. "You cannot tell me, because it will break the spell?" he guessed quietly.

She nodded.

"And I suppose you cannot tell me who cast the spell either?"

She shook her head, barely breathing. He looked her over carefully and sighed. "Well I can guess well enough, and I doubt they'd send me a fake. Obviously you're bait, but for what?" He seemed to be forcibly holding himself back.

"I don't know," she said quietly, close to tears. She had never thought she would be endangering Loki by coming here. Thor had promised... Her breath hitched, and suddenly Loki cursed, dropping his paint brush and rushing forward to crush her in his arms.

"Natasha," he whispered, as if he hardly dare believe it.

"Loki," she sighed, "Loki I'm so sorry, I should have gone with you, I never should have left with—"

"Shh," he interrupted, pulling back and taking her face in his hands and chuckling. "You had no choice in it, I know."

She frowned at him. "How could you do that to me, Loki? How could you leave me with him?"

"I am so dreadfully sorry, Natasha. By the time I had realized my mistake, you should have been long dead. But you're here now?" he couldn't quite make it a statement.

"Yes, I'm here. Now." She laughed a little.

"Oh, my beautiful girl," he said softly, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. And then he kissed her. Centuries of longing and desire poured into the touch of his lips on hers. He was gentle, surprisingly so, but she felt as though his hands were burning into her, his mouth consuming her, and it was all she wanted and more.

She opened her eyes to find them in another room, where the walls were made entirely of mirrors. The image of her, and Loki, and the low, vast bed which they stood beside was repeated a thousand times in every direction. She laughed, surprised and delighted.

"I must be very careful with my magic, now," he said simply. "But this seemed worth it."

She glanced up at the high ceiling, which looked for all the world like the night sky, strewn with a million stars.

"Diamonds," he explained, "set in deep blue velvet." He removed her coat and hat, dropping them to the floor, then took her hand and pulled her down so that she knelt on the bed beside him.

"Such extravagance," she marveled. "I've never seen anything like it."

"There are many such wonders I wish to show you," he said, pushing the strap off her dress off her shoulder. "But none so fine as you."

Natasha moaned softly as he bent to kiss her exposed shoulder, then ventured lower. She let her head fall back, buried her fingers in his hair, and lost herself to him once more. Here, then, was everything she had missed in the past six months: the magic of his fingertips, tracing strange patterns on her skin; the way he remembered each of her secret, sensitive places that Clint had never bothered to find. It was like breathing after being underwater for far too long.

Many times Natasha had dreamed of this, and she had trouble convincing herself she was awake. Too much of her journey to find him had been strange and inexplicable. A mere day ago, she had been standing in the little two-room house she had resigned to spend the rest of her life in with Clint, and now... now...

Loki, who was paying particular attention to a spot just behind Natasha's ear, chuckled, and his breath tickled the sensitive skin. "If this is a dream, darling, I assure you it's mine," he murmured. So he had not lost the knack of reading her thoughts. "Although I don't think I would have dreamed this," he tugged on a short curl of red hair playfully.

She smiled apologetically. "I needed the money," she said simply. "I didn't know I would find you so soon. Do you hate it?"

He pulled back, giving her an assessing look. "No. It suits you. And as much as I hate the thought of you having to sell your hair, I much prefer it to the thought of you selling other things," his tone held a hint of a question.

She just laughed. "Francine said you would be jealous," she said incredulously, but shook her head. "I didn't think you would have cared, though."

Natasha thought her comment might make him angry, the old habit of intentionally provoking him rising to the surface once more. Instead, he looked hurt.

"Of course I care!" he said, frowning. Now he did look a little angry, and he threaded his fingers through what was left of her hair. There was still enough of it for him to take hold and pull her head back, exposing her throat. "I don't like the idea of other men taking what is _mine_." He nearly growled the last word.

She swallowed, hesitating, and then said it. "Then why did you leave me with him?"

Loki sighed, all of his anger rushing out of him and taking the wind out of his sails as it went. He let go and flopped down onto the bed, looking up at her with a wry smile. "Well, no guessing if you're real now," he chuckled. "Only you would say something vexing like that."

She sat back on her heels, her silence demanding an answer to her question.

"Was I wrong in guessing that he would be good to you? Did he hurt you, or was he too demanding, or did he say cruel things to you?" He asked peevishly.

"No," Natasha admitted. "But maybe that was the problem."

Loki raised an eyebrow.

"It just reminded me that he wasn't you," she explained.

The corner of his mouth twitched, as if resisting a smile. He reached up to fiddle with the strap of her dress that hung loose. "Did you really miss me that much?" he asked quietly.

"Every minute of every day for six months," she said. Her voice shook a little on the last word.

Natasha could see Loki thinking, knew that far more than six months had passed. He looked as though he wanted to ask her more, but he knew it was the most she could tell him. Taking her hand in his, he asked, "If I were to apologize, sincerely and thoroughly, could we put it behind us?"

Her eyebrows shot up. She had never dreamed he would ask for her forgiveness, even in such evasive terms. After a moment of thought, she nodded. If he was willing to apologize, she could forgive him.

"Good," he said, and pulled her hand so that she fell forward atop him, before rolling to pin her with a hungry kiss.

When she could, Natasha asked, "What are you doing?"

He grinned. "Apologizing. Sincerely and _thoroughly_."

* * *

_**A/N: **__There will be more chapters, but not for a while. I need to build my buffer back up on Anima Complex so I can keep updating it regularly. But I didn't want to leave you guys hanging! _

_Thank you for all your wonderful reviews, and for so many people following me! This story currently ranks #9 in M rated Loxi x Natasha fics by follows here on FF. It blows me away how much support I have here, and really restored my faith in myself as an author._


	18. Chapter 18

_Well, instead of my usual mid-week Anima Complex update, have some of this instead. ^.^_

* * *

Natasha laughed. "Some apology," she teased him.

Loki pouted playfully. "You wound me, darling. I seem to recall you being quiet appreciative of my... particular skill set, long ago," he murmured, tugging the other strap of her dress down and trailing his fingertips along her neck and exposed shoulders.

She smiled slyly. "And I seem to recall that you didn't like to _give _and rather preferred to _take_," she reminded him.

"Ah, but you're wrong. I do prefer taking to being given - although you, as always, seem to be the exception - but that doesn't mean I can't be generous when I feel like it." He sat back, straddling her.

"And do you feel generous now?" she asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched as his eyes raked over her form, spread out beneath him. "No." As he murmured the word, he pulled down her dress, exposing her. For a long moment, he only looked, and when he did touch her she could swear his fingers trembled. Then he tightened his grip, and she moaned, arching up into his hands.

A low, involuntary groan escaped Loki's throat, and he bent forward to kiss and lick and bite, all the while murmuring his affection. "Oh, my sweet, perfect girl. How I have missed you."

She smiled, winding her fingers in his hair. "I missed you, too. I was surprised that you didn't just take me the moment you saw me, right in front of that poor girl."

Loki chuckled at that, and shook his head, nuzzling the line of her cleavage. "Once upon a time, I probably would have. But I have spent too many lonely nights imagining this to waste it on impatience."

"You have?" she swallowed, her voice thick with emotion.

"Oh yes," he breathed, moving aside so he could slide a hand up the side of her short dress, eliciting a gasp from her as his thumb brushed the inside of her hip. "Thousands of times. Hundreds of thousands. Always assuming it would never happen, never dreaming it would be so sweet..."

Natasha felt tears prick her eyes, and blinked them away angrily. She would not cry, she would not, not now that she had what she wanted. "I... I tried not to think of you," she admitted.

He paused in tracing a line down the side of her stomach and looked up at her, surprised.

"I couldn't," she answered the unspoken question in his eyes. "I was so completely miserable, I didn't dare. If I thought of you, of what we had, of what could have been... I would have died from the sorrow of it. But I wasn't very successful. You were always there, on the edge of my thoughts, tormenting me."

He reached out a hand, pulling her up so he could lift her dress over her shoulders. "Well, there's nothing new about that," he smirked.

As soon as she was free, Natasha began to unbutton Loki's jacket, but he caught her wrists and pulled them away. "Let me just look at you," he whispered. His voice was so plaintive that she stilled, watching him watch her. "You are every bit as beautiful as I remembered," he smiled.

Impatient, she tried to tug free of his grasp, and almost succeeded, but he only tightened his grip. "You're stronger," he chuckled.

"Farm work will do that," she said bluntly, irritated.

Shifting his weight, Loki pinned her to the bed, her hands caught in one of his above her head. "I begin to tire of you reminding me of my mistake so frequently," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Well you haven't really apologized yet," she snapped back.

He swallowed, studying her face. She could see a muscle in his cheek twitch as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. His fingers tightened around her wrists. "I am sorry," he said in a low voice, "for leaving you to that life." His voice wavered on the last word.

Natasha was genuinely shocked for a moment. She hadn't expected him to actually apologize, and certainly not so convincingly. "You've changed," she murmured.

He sighed. "Yes, well, this world has taken a toll on me. You have stolen my heart, at least try not to be careless with it." In his eyes, she could see a depth and sincerity that had been lacking before. It seemed that his great fury at his past had faded, and left only an abiding sorrow.

"Loki," she whispered. "I-" she faltered, then blurted, "I think I love you." When he stilled and said nothing, she pressed on. "I wish I had said so, before you left. Would it have made you stay?" the question had burned in her mind for six long months.

A smile ghosted across his expression. "I might have. However, I also might have hated you for it, never knowing if it were the truth or if you had only said it to keep me. But I wonder, what do you mean you _think _you love me? You've come all this way and you're still not sure?" he teased.

She bit her lip, thinking. "I've never known love. What I feel for you, it's not like in the stories. It's not a fountain of joy that lifts you up and makes you feel as though you were floating. It's... it's more like a sickness, an endless craving that cannot be sated. I am happy when I am with you because it is the only time I am not miserable without you," she said. "But I don't know what else it could be, other than love."

Releasing her wrists, Loki brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones and laughed softly. "In all my years without you, I had never put a name to what chewed at my soul night and day. If you say it is love, then I suppose it must be so. They say love can drive a man to madness, imagine what more it could do to a god?"

Natasha smiled a little. "Well, I know what _I _should like to do to this god," she teased, but did not move an inch, following his unspoken rules.

"Oh?" Loki was glad to speak of lighter things.

"Please let me take off your clothes," she said boldly. "I want - I need to see you, touch you, feel your skin on mine again."

He chuckled a little, unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging out of it. Beneath he wore a beautifully embroidered silk vest, and below that a shirt of the finest cotton Natasha had ever seen. He let her unbutton the vest, and push it off his shoulders, and showed her how the cuffs of the shirt were held together with little emerald pins. She unbuttoned each of the tiny pearl buttons on his shirt, and then finally she could brush her fingers along the pale, scarred expanse of his chest.

He shuddered under her touch, but she explored further, running her hands down his arms to free him of the shirt, and kissed the underside of his adam's apple. The tips of her breasts brushed against his chest, and she gasped at the sensation. Loki cursed softly, making it sound like a prayer, and wrapped one arm around her, pressing her body against his. They held each other a long moment, relishing the feel of her soft form crushed against the hard planes of his body. She felt his chest expand as hers contracted, the rhythm of their breath deep and quick.

Natasha wriggled against his hold, pressing her hips upward. "More," she gasped.

"Yes," he agreed, laying them down. He pulled away from her, but only to quickly shuffle off his pants and shoes. He had quite forgotten his habit of making them disappear. He rushed back into her arms, moaning as he tilted his hips against her.

"Please," she begged, trying to grant him access, but he cursed again and pressed his forehead against hers.

"You're not ready, darling," he crooned, but she just huffed.

"Yes I _am_," she grabbed his hand and shoved it between them, showing him where she wanted to be touched.

Loki hissed a string of obscenities affectionately when he felt just how wet she was. Strangely, in French, Natasha thought they sounded elegant.

"Loki, I have had my fill of considerate lovemaking. I did not come all this way for tender affection. I want you to..." she paused, trying to find the right words. "_Je veux que tu me baises,_" she smiled, remembering that the word _baiser_, to kiss, meant something entirely different when one did not specify _where_.

He lifted an eyebrow, impressed. "Natasha, I don't dare lose myself now. I couldn't forgive myself if I... Ah!"

She had shifted her hand between them so that she had a hold of him firmly. "And I won't forgive you if you _don't_," she threatened.

This seemed to be more than enough to convince him. He took hold of her wrist, squeezing tightly, until she was forced to let go. As soon as he was free, he flipped her over roughly, pulling her hips up to meet his and pressing down hard on her back until her face was pressed against the sheets.

"Be careful what you wish for," he said airily, although there was a dangerous edge to his voice. He placed himself at her entrance, hesitating for only a moment. "You just might get it."

With that, he drove into her, hard enough that Natasha cried out in surprise, and clutched the covers desperately. It was too much, all at once, and she squeezed her eyes shut, loving it. "Yes," she gasped, toes curling, and tried to flip her hair out of her eyes. She caught sight of Loki's reflection in one of the mirrors, and stilled.

As he thrusted relentlessly, pulling her hips back against him with each move, Loki wore an expression of purest torture. On his face was clearly written what he had hidden from her in their time together: What she had thought was reckless abandon was really the razor edge of his control. There was more beyond that, much more she could see, and for the first time she understood that he feared it might kill her. But it made her sad, to see him so pained.

"Loki, don't..." she said without thinking.

Loki shuddered, but stilled, his grip on her hips so tight it was painful.

"D-don't _stop_," she moaned. "Please," she pushed her hips up against him.

"Damnit, Natasha, don't scare me like that," he growled, pushing into her again. He snaked an arm beneath her breasts, pulling her up so she was kneeling in front of him. The change in angle made sparks flash behind her eyes, and when they cleared she could see her own reflection in the mirror facing her, and Loki's face, his eyes boring into hers. "I don't think I _could _stop, even if you begged me."

Natasha smiled, and reached behind her to bury her fingers in his hair. "Would you like that?" she murmured, curious.

"What?" he frowned.

"If I begged you to stop?" she whispered.

Again Loki shivered, clutching her to him tightly for a long moment. At last he pushed her away, making her fall onto the bed, and turned her over, staring at her incredulously. "Why would you do that?"

She wrapped her legs around him, missing his presence inside her. "Because it's what you like," she smirked, guessing his secret at last.

He stared at her a moment longer, and then laughed. "Well you're not very convincing at the moment," he teased glancing down at the enticing sight of her sliding up and down the length of him.

Natasha pressed her lips together, fighting a smile, and unwound her legs from his waist, pressing them together as best she could. He forced his knee between them, pressing it against her most sensitive spot. She gasped, and tried to push him away.

With a curse, Loki grabbed her her hands, putting them above her head once more. He managed to get between her legs, forcing them open with his own, and she began a string of protestations that made him close his eyes and groan. He pressed into her, slowly this time, and she squirmed against him helplessly. He opened his eyes again and looked at her, hesitating a moment. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and with that he let go.

It had been a long time since Natasha had needed to use the skill she called on now, saying one thing when she felt the opposite. _Yes _became _No _and _More _turned to _Stop._ Before, it had been the other way around, but while that act was done to keep herself alive, this was done for the sheer pleasure of it. There was an odd sense of freedom to it, knowing and acknowledging that she was completely vulnerable to him.

Loki was both rougher and gentler with her. His movements lost their frantic pace, but he did not kiss her, instead licking the inside of the shell of her ear. It was an unexpected invasion, and she cringed away even as she enjoyed it. He used his magic, almost without thinking, to bind her hands and keep them out of his way. When she could no longer pretend to resist him, her pleas for mercy melting into moans of ecstasy, he conjured up a scrap of silk cloth and tied it round her mouth. This served to muffle her screams, and whether they were from pleasure or pain only she could tell.

But eventually her body betrayed her, her legs finding their way around his waist again, feet pressing into his back to draw him deeper as she shuddered hard with her climax. Loki chuckled darkly.

"Harlot," he whispered, remembering.

She just moaned, arching against him. He slid a hand under her back, and turned so that she was sitting astride him, her wrists and mouth suddenly free. She blinked, surprised.

"Ride me," he ordered breathlessly, "Like the first time. Like when you tied me down," he said, barely above a whisper.

Natasha didn't need to be told twice. She braced her hands against his chest and moved her hips in an alluring rhythm all her own. Loki watched her, mesmerized, and clutched the sheets beneath him tightly. It took very little time for him to lose his hard-won control, arching his back against her and meeting her stroke for stroke. He pulled her hands off his chest, pulled her down and pressed her to his chest so she could no longer move, and pressed once, twice, and froze with a strangled cry.

They lay there, breathless and panting, and for the first time it sunk in for Loki that Natasha was real, and not some torture devised by his own mind. He ran a hand up and down her back, thanking whatever idiot had gone to the trouble of bringing her there, and for a moment not giving a damn about the consequences.

"Was it everything you imagined?" she murmured at last, pushing hair out of her face. It had never been quite so bothersome when it was longer.

"Much, much more," he smiled.

* * *

Afterwards, Natasha lay in his arms, still feeling as though she were dreaming

"How long has it been?" she asked softly.

Loki sighed, a long exhale. "Nearly 600 years?" he guessed.

Natasha shook her head, she couldn't imagine it. "What did you do?"

He chuckled. "I saw the world." He waved his hand, and the mirrors around them showed images from his memory. "First, I went south, as you would have liked to. I found France boring, at the time, so I continued until I came to Rome. There, things were interesting. _The Renaissance_, they call it now. The Rebirth. I felt as if I had been reborn, too."

All around her Natasha saw beautiful statues, paintings and buildings. But she also saw strange things, great parties where clergymen freely mingled with naked prostitutes, assassinations carried out in broad daylight, and innocent people tortured for their beliefs.

"Then I heard of a new world, and thought I should like to see that as well. It was nice, while it lasted, but it's no fun being a god when there's no one left to worship you. So I went to Africa, a land of great darkness... After a while I wondered where the boats full of men went," he explained, "So I followed the trade routes.

"I went North, hearing the tale that there were whole groups of people who had left their homes to live free from religious persecution. I wondered what sort of people could do such a thing."

In one mirror, Natasha saw these people helping others whose land had been taken, working in cooperation to make a new home for both. In another, though, she saw three sobbing women tied to stakes and burned, she knew not why.

Loki sighed. "But eventually, religious freedom was not enough. They wanted their own government, wanted to be free from paying taxes that never benefited them,"

The scene changed to fighting, terrible battles where strange weapons killed men at a distance, thousands of them.

"So many die in the name of 'freedom', and for what? When it was all over, when they had won, their taxes were four times as much to pay for the war. So I came to France."

Natasha now saw Loki, dressed in colorful clothes and red-heeled shoes, as he flirted with ladies who wore ridiculously wide dresses and tall, white wigs.

"But the French seemed to have gotten ideas from their American friends," he said, and sounded oddly approving.

Now in the mirror, Loki was dressed plainly, a tricolor ribbon affixed to his jacket lapel. He stood in a mob with thousands of others, as the same fancy ladies he had flirted with were led to a scaffold. There was a machine, horrific in its simplicity, which cut off their heads. Everyone, Loki included, cheered, and the streets ran red with blood.

"Alas, even Terror grows old with time, as you know, so I ventured East, into the newly conquered colonies."

Many strange and wondrous things passed behind the glass surfaces-great grey beasts that carried women who fairly glittered with jewels and covered their faces with scarves. Temples which rose high in the sky, carvings of snake-like dragons climbing the roofs. A great gilt-roof palace shining brightly in the sun, and dark rooms where people smoked long pipes and looked half-dead, and battles fought over fields of red flowers.

"At this point I had grown tired of it all, weary of the endless upheaval and tyranny. I had gone south, west, and east. Now I went North. I thought of you often, of your flight into winter."

Natasha saw a wall that seemed to stretch on beyond the horizon, and a great grassy plain behind it. Summer faded into winter, and then there was snow, a forest full of it, and a glimpse of orange as a tiger made its way through the trees.

"It was here I heard whispers that the rulers of this land were named Romanoff. I wondered if they were some distant descendants of yours. I took a disguise, one they would trust, and made myself invaluable to them. The youngest child, the heir, was very sick. My magic could not cure him, but it could stop the bleeding, and that was enough. There was a high-spirited girl with red hair. Anastasia. A real troublemaker," he chuckled. "She made me think of you."

She watched the events he described, until nothing remained but the image of a young girl, standing in her nightgown, smiling up at them.

"What happened?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

Loki stared at the girl for a long time. "What always happens. It didn't matter that they led simple lives, that her father truly cared for the common people. The people rose up, revolution the cry on their lips." he stood, suddenly dressed in the same black robe she had seen him wear in the mirror. He stared down at the image of the girl for a long time. "They killed them. All of them. Shot them, stabbed them, threw them in a ditch and burned the bodies."

Karnilla's words echoes in her mind-_everywhere he goes, chaos and violence follow. It's never his intention, but everything he touches is tainted with his magics, and is never the same._ She shuddered. "How did you escape?"

He laughed, and the image of the little girl, as well as his vestments, disappeared. He sat back on the bed. "Oh I was long gone by then. There were plenty of people who wanted me dead too, but... It would seem that I am well and truly immortal. I was poisoned, shot, beaten, and drowned. The last bit allowed me to escape, and I came here, thinking to capitalize on the new-found obsession with the occult." He lay down, staring up at the diamond-studded ceiling.

"But I couldn't stop thinking of you. There's a group of artists here, they call their work a 'new art.' I got caught up with them and started painting again. I had nearly forgotten your face, it had been so long. But I remembered your hair..." he ran a hand through the shortened locks.

"Les Roux?" she asked, smiling.

"Yes," his eyebrows twitched downward. "How is it you come to speak French so well, anyway?" he asked.

She put her fingers over his lips, silencing him. "I can't tell you, I'm sorry. Isn't it enough that I'm here?"

Loki seemed to recognize something in her words, and nodded. "Of course." but his expression remained troubled. He began tracing the lines of her face with his fingertips, as if painting her with his touch. A moment later he sat up, holding his hand out for her to do so as well. "Come sit for me," he asked.

"Sit for you?" she frowned, taking his hand and pulling herself up.

"Let me paint you," he whispered in her ear, sounding very much as if he were suggesting something else.

She smiled a little. "How many women have you seduced with that line?" she asked suspiciously.

He chuckled darkly. "Far too many," he admitted.

Natasha snatched up her dress and tugged it over her head. "Oh, so you can ensnare as many unsuspecting girls as you like, but I'm to keep my skirts down?" she teased.

He raised an eyebrow. "_I _am not the one being paid for it," he argued.

"And paying for it is better?"

Loki scowled. "That was _not _what I was paying them for," he started to sound frustrated, and reached for her.

She skittered out of his reach. "Did you make that abundantly clear to them?"

He sighed, remaining on the bed. "No," he admitted.

"Well then," Natasha put her hands on her hips. "As long as you're honest about it."

This comment engendered the closest thing to a real laugh Natasha had ever heard come from Loki. At her inquisitive look, he shrugged. "When I was still worshipped as a god, one of my titles was 'the god of lies.' I've certainly lived up to it, over the years." He glanced down, thinking a little. "It's nice to have someone I can be honest with."

She smiled a little, then looked around. "Where is the door?" she asked at last.

He smirked, amused, and stood. By the time he reached her, he was fully clothed again. "Watch," he said, moving to one of the mirrors. There was a small dark spot on one at waist height, the sort of smudge that often forms on old mirrors. He pressed a long, tapered finger to it, and when he removed his finger the mirror swung forward with a small _click_.

Natasha moved to see what lay beyond the mirror-door, and found a richly decorated hallway.

"This is the upstairs of the studio," he explained. "I live here."

"It's beautiful," she murmured, and began to explore.

Loki followed after, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

* * *

_**A/N: **__Had a bad day, felt like writing some smut to cheer myself up. Hopefully it balances out the really boring history lesson lol. _

_While writing Anima Complex, I realized that I really needed to finish this story before I post the next chapter of that one. I'll probably post the last chapter of this on Saturday, just before that. Seems crazy that the story is almost over! And here I was thinking it was going to be "short." _

_Tell me what you think?_


	19. Chapter 19

Once again, I'm posting on this story instead of Anima Complex. I apologize for it being a day late, I'm still having a really hard time adjusting to my new job.

* * *

Natasha wandered down the hallway, her bare feet whispering over the velvet carpet. The ceiling above was decorated in an intricate, tiled pattern. The walls were a deep olive, and along the wall sconces that looked like flowers glowed dimly with gaslight. The first door she came to was on her left, and slightly ajar. She pushed it open to find a room full of books, the wondrous library she remembered from the pit.

Loki chuckled at her joyful gasp. "It's not the same," he warned her. "I read different books now."

Taking a few steps in, Natasha turned around slowly. Two facing walls were comprised entirely of bookshelves, full to bursting with all shapes and sizes, as well as many souvenirs of his travels. Next to the door was a large fireplace, the stone around it carved into fluid and organic shapes. In front of it sat two stately wing-back chairs. At the far end of the room, a series of four windows were hung with diaphanous ivory lace curtains, which shattered and softened the afternoon light that shone through them.

Next to the windows was a low couch, a _chaise longue_, the words came into Natasha's mind. It was covered in dark, rich leather, and had an exquisite fur blanket tossed carelessly across one end. On the one arm sat a book, open face down to keep its place. She ran a finger over the strange, gothic letters on the cover.

"I sleep here most nights," Loki admitted. "I've been reading that again, lately."

She picked it up. "What is it?"

He studied her carefully. "You can't read it?"

She could tell that her answer was important, somehow. Rifling through the pages, none of the words seemed familiar. "No, I don't know this language."

"Hm. It's in German." He looked thoughtful.

"What is it about?" She wanted to avoid whatever it was Loki was trying to figure out, guessing that it was probably to do with the spell that had brought her here.

Loki reached out for the book, and she handed it over. "The title means 'my struggle.' It was written by a man while he was in prison," he looked as if this amused him.

Natasha frowned. "Why was he in prison?"

Now Loki smiled wryly. "He tried to make a _coup d'etat_. He saw that the leaders of his country were doing a poor job of it, and the people suffered for it, and that those leaders were appointed by dishonest means. So he sought to overthrow them, and put himself in power. So you can see why I might relate to him?"

She nodded.

"This book," he held it up, "tells the story of his life and how he thinks the world should work. He has a great respect for the old Norse gods, I hear, and his theories are... inspired." As he spoke, Natasha could tell that Loki was very passionate about this subject.

Suddenly, Karnilla's words sprang into her mind._ He has stumbled upon something, an idea, and if he supports it, it will change the balance of things. Heroes which should have saved this realm and others will never be born_... Loki continued to gush about the book, and Natasha grew worried. He sounded obsessed, and she wondered how she could possibly turn his attention away from the subject at hand.

"I don't really care much for politics," Natasha said suddenly.

Loki paused, about to say something on the subject of superior humans, and then shut his mouth. He gave her a piercing look, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was trying to read her mind. She struggled not to think of Karnilla or Thor, and failed. After a moment Loki smiled and let out an soft burst of laughter.

"Alright, then," he said cheerfully, tossing the book back onto the couch. "I seem to recall that you were fond of fairy stories?" he asked.

Natasha nodded, following him to one of the bookshelves. Loki trailed a long, tapered finger along the spines until he found the one he was looking for. "Here," he pulled it out. "This was made by a good friend of mine. Can you read it?"

Natasha took the over-sized book and looked at the beautifully illustrated cover. The letters were more familiar to her than the new, French ones she suddenly knew how to read. "_Narodnye Russkie Skazki_," she murmured, easily slipping back into her mother tongue. "Russian Fairy Tales," she translated into French, "Collected by Alexander Afanasyev and illustrated by Ivan Bilibin." She opened the book in the middle, to another rich illustration. It showed a man with long black hair, all dressed in black, riding a black horse. He wore an expression of simmering rage she had glimpsed on Loki's face once, long ago, when he spoke of his past.

"I heard of Ivan's work first in Russia," Loki said, speaking in Russian. It was strange, to hear his voice in her own language. "He doesn't know who I was, of course, but when he came to Paris I made sure to make his acquaintance. He's the one who convinced me to paint again."

"It's beautiful," Natasha murmured, turning the pages.

"Excellent!" Loki smiled, switching back to French. "You can read it while I paint." He took the book, tucked it under one arm, and grabbed hold of her wrist. He pulled her quickly out of the library, his pace as rapid as ever.

As she struggled to keep up with him, Natasha laughed breathlessly. He paused, surprised, halfway down a flight of stairs, and had to catch her to keep her from falling. As a result, she ended up in his arms, still laughing. "What?" he asked, bemused by her laughter.

She shook her head. "In some ways, you haven't changed at all," she said. "You were always pulling me somewhere in a rush, right from the start."

He smiled a little, but there was a sadness to it. She kissed him softly, and then made an inquisitive sound.

"I remember the first time. The things I said to you," he explained.

"That love is a lie?" she asked. He nodded, brushing his nose against her cheek. "You were right, though. In a way," she thought of what he said was better than love._ Here there are no lies, nothing to hide behind. You are exposed, vulnerable, and there is nothing, nothing between you and I except your deepest, darkest desires._ "Maybe it's not love then?" she wondered.

"No," he said quietly. "If there is anything I know to be true, it is that I love you, Natasha." His words were murmured, barely audible even as close as she was, but they made her breath catch in her throat.

"Loki..." she sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. She had known, in her heart, that he felt the same as she did, but she had never dreamed he would say the words aloud.

He chuckled softly, and pulled away. "I think I had best take you to the studio before we end up in the bedroom again," he joked.

She smiled, and let him lead her - at a more normal pace - back to the studio. Loki dragged an overstuffed chair up onto the dais, and then threw a large cushion on as well. He gestured for Natasha to sit, and then placed the book in her lap. He took a few steps back, studying the composition.

He sighed. "Natasha, why do I always find you wearing terrible, shabby dresses?" he lamented.

She looked down. "I sold my dress, too. It was the one you gave me," she frowned.

Loki looked instantly regretful. "Well, that we can buy back, I'm sure. We'll go there later."

Natasha nodded. "I'd like to let Francine know I'm alright, anyway."

"Francine?" Loki asked.

She told him how it was she had come to find him in Paris, carefully avoiding the subject of how she arrived in the first place. "She's a huge fan of your work," she smiled, "she'll probably give it to you free if you ask yourself."

He chuckled, but seemed distracted, biting the tip of his finger as he thought. Natasha noticed that his nails were still black and shiny. After a moment, he turned and walked to the front door, locking it. "Close your eyes," he told her as he came back.

She did as he told her, and felt the tingle of magic all around her. When she opened them again, she was wearing an exquisite dress, made of the same paper-thin silk as before. She could see herself in one of the mirrors on the wall, and gasped.

This time, her dress was cut more to the standards of the day, with thin straps made of a chain of emeralds, and a deep V in the front that went almost to her stomach. It hung loosely, but in such a way that the fabric seemed to drip off her curves. She wore a startling amount of jewelry, gems at her ears and silver on her wrists and fingers. Around her neck was a braided silver chain, which held an intricate emerald pendant just between her breasts. She touched it, marveling at the large stone at the center.

"Hold it," Loki said breathlessly.

Natasha froze diligently, looking at him only with her eyes.

"Yes," he murmured, and turned to put a fresh, blank canvas on his easel. It was a complicated process, and he glanced back to see her still frozen in place. "You can move a little, read the book if you like, just keep your hand there," he laughed.

She frowned. "But the other girl...?"

He snorted. "Oh, Lori is a disagreeable little brat," he said, although his voice was affectionate. "She likes to make me angry, like you." his smile was amused. "You don't really need to hold perfectly still, I was just irritated with her."

"Was she... your lover?" Natasha asked.

Loki had managed to get the canvas in place, and began gathering brushes and paint pots. "No. Not yet, anyway, I think that was likely her plan. She was new, a friend of another model's." His face darkened momentarily, but then he shook his head and began to paint. "I wouldn't normally have taken her, her hair wasn't the right color. But she was very... persuasive, and her friend, who had worked for me for some time, had disappeared rather suddenly. That's when I put out the ad, although Lori showed up before it even ran. I was hoping someone better would come along." He smiled at her. "Guess I got my wish."

She smiled a little, and opened the book of fairy tales. Something about the way Loki spoke of his prior model seemed off to her, but she didn't want to think about it. She read the old familiar tales of Baba Yaga and Vasilisa the Beautiful, occasionally reading her favorite parts aloud in Russian. Loki would smile, and nod, but seemed totally absorbed in his painting.

An hour or so later, he stepped back, and set down his brush, wiping his hands on a stained cloth. "Well, tell me what you think?" he asked.

She got up, stretching, and set the book on the chair. She walked to stand beside Loki, and then turned to look.

"It's not finished, of course, it's just the underpainting," he explained.

Despite his words, the canvas before her had been transformed. The sketch was rough, and he had only used browns and yellows, making it look a little like the daguerreotype she had seen in shop windows, but the play of light and shadow gave it a sense of depth, and something more.

"It looks... magical," she breathed.

Loki wrapped his arms around her slowly, staring at it over her shoulder. "Well, that's mostly because of you," he murmured into her hair. He fiddled with the jeweled strap of her dress.

"Another line you use on your models?" she guessed, turning around.

He smiled. "No. Although I do usually blame them for the flaws."

"You're terrible," she laughed.

"Mmm," he agreed. "Are you hungry? I have so many places I would like to show you off," he murmured.

She raised her eyebrows. "Not dressed like this, I hope?" she ghosted a hand over the revealing neckline.

"If you like," he shrugged, and snapped his fingers.

Natasha looked down to find that she now wore a black dress, decorated with jet beading. It too was low-necked, without any sleeves at all, stiff pieces in the tight bodice holding it securely on her. But it was long, falling all the way to her feet, and gloves that went up past her elbows kept her arms mostly covered.

"Better?" he asked when she went to look in the mirror.

She turned, finding a small puff of fabric that made her backside look strangely large. "I guess..." she tried to smooth it down.

He chuckled. "It's a little old-fashioned, but it will work well for where we're going." His reflection appeared in the mirror beside her, splendidly dressed in a black coat with tails and a green satin waistcoat beneath. His hands found her waist, the white gloves contrasting sharply against the black taffeta. "It's a shame you missed corsets," he lamented, and trailed a gloved finger along the lace decolletage. "I can just imagine your breasts, pushed up against one," He demonstrated, pressing her against him and lifting, multiplying her cleavage until it looked as if she would spill out.

Natasha gasped, blushing, and clutched at his hands. "Loki!" she chided breathlessly. "Are we going to dinner or to bed?"

He chuckled and released her. Taking her hand, he tucked it into the crook of his elbow, leading her towards the door. "I think the former, and then the latter," he teased.

* * *

_**A/N: **__I really thought this was going to be the last chapter, lol. I _should _be able to finish it in the next one, but I'm not making any promises. 20 is a nice round number, though. We'll see. I promise to post anything as soon as I write it, either for this story or Anima Complex. For the moment, I just can't commit to a regular update schedule because I don't know when I will be able to write. Thank you guys for being understanding and sticking around nonetheless._


	20. Chapter 20

_So, the "last chapter" became three chapters... I know you're all heartbroken. Since I'm posting them all at once, I won't leave another note until the end. Enjoy!_

* * *

After whisking her off to a very fancy restaurant - a novel experience for Natasha, who had only ever eaten at home or occasionally at an inn - Loki managed to locate the brothel that Francine ran. He charmed and flattered her ruthlessly, much to her ecstatic joy, and bought the dress back for nothing but his signature. They gave her the hat and coat back, and just before they left, she enveloped Natasha in a motherly hug.

"I am so happy you found him," she told Natasha, with tears in her eyes. "It's so romantic."

"Well, it's all thanks to you, Francine," she said awkwardly, trying to ignore the enormous bosoms very near her face.

"Yes," Loki agreed. "And thank you for convincing her not to work," he said sardonically.

Francine released Natasha and waved a hand at him. "Oh, I knew she was too good for this place anyway. If she hadn't found you, I was going to suggest she set up her own salon."

Loki smiled, amused at Natasha's surprised expression. "Yes, I could see that. She would have been the toast of Paris. Fortunately, I managed to snatch her up first."

"You take good care of her then, Mr. Lafoy," Francine warned, "She's certainly got other options!" she laughed.

By now, Natasha was beginning to feel a little embarrassed. Loki seemed to pick up on this, and made their good-byes. "As delightful as this has been, we must be going. I have too many places I must show her off!"

"Of course!" Francine gushed. She waved a pudgy arm as they went out the door.

Natasha followed Loki back into the automobile - as the carriages without horses were called, she had learned - and settled herself as he ordered the driver to take them back to his home.

"What happened to showing me off?" she asked, amused.

Loki returned her amused look, but there was heat behind it. "I can show you off tomorrow. Right now I want you all to myself." He spoke low, and close to her ear, but she was still fairly certain the driver could hear them, and glanced away uncomfortably.

He chuckled. "Jaques will pay us no attention," he assured her, tilting her face back toward him with one gloved finger. "We are as good as alone..." Leaning forward, he kissed the pale, exposed skin of her neck and shoulder.

Natasha glanced at the driver; his eyes stayed resolutely on the road in front of him, and he showed no sign that he even knew they were there. Still, she squirmed under Loki's attentions, but he just chuckled again.

"Be a good girl, and don't make such a fuss," he chided her playfully in Russian.

"Couldn't you... couldn't you somehow make it so he _can't _see us?" she replied in kind, thinking of his magic.

His face darkened. "No, darling, I must be very careful with that these days. It's not something that should be used lightly."

She sighed, understanding.

"I tell you what," Loki smiled a little. "If you promise to do exactly as I say when we get there, I will wait until we're home to ravage you," he whispered in her ear.

Natasha shuddered, only just now realizing that he had meant to do so right there, in the car. "All right," she agreed quickly, and felt her pulse race at the prospect of what was to come.

Loki shook his head a little, and sat back, giving her space. "Jaques, take a shortcut," he ordered in clipped French, obviously impatient.

"_Oui, monsieur_," Jacques agreed, with only the barest hint of a smile.

* * *

When they made it back to the studio, Loki unlocked the door, pulled Natasha inside, and locked them in again. The room was dark, with moonlight filtering in through the skylight. He untied the ribbon of the warm fur wrap he had bought her, and slipped it from her shoulders.

"Stay right there," he murmured, and turned to deposit the wrap in a chair. He shrugged off his own cloak, watching her as he did so. Biting the tip of one finger, he pulled off one glove, and then repeated the process with the other, tossing it behind him. At last he walked back, slowly, looking her over as if wondering where to start.

"Here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled. "One of these days, yes. But I'd rather wait until it's sunny," he touched a curl that dangled over her cheek, "when your beautiful hair looks like fire. Not tonight." He kissed her forehead, and then swept her up into his arms.

He carried her up the stairs, moving effortlessly as though she weighed nothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of the shoulder. "I'm really here, aren't I?" she wondered aloud.

Loki smiled. "Yes. You're really here." Despite his words, Loki sounded as though he could hardly believe it himself. "Whether you will actually follow through on your promise, though, remains to be seen." He smirked.

She lifted her chin. "Is that a challenge?"

He glanced at her sidelong. "It is indeed."

"Hmph." Natasha put her head back down, fighting a smile.

The door to the mirrored room swung open before they reached it, and closed with a soft click behind them. The lights flared to life, revealing the myriad reflections once more. Loki carefully put her back on her feet, and then turned her around so she was facing away from him. "Hold still," he ordered softly as he began to undo each of the tiny jet buttons that ran down the length of her back.

"Loki says?" she asked, remembering.

In the mirror, she could see the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. "You must remember to call me Lucas now, or Mr. Lafoy," he reminded her.

"But we're alone," she insisted.

He shook his head. "We can never be too careful, Natasha. Of course," he gave her a wicked smile, "you could always just call me _Maître_," he suggested.

She frowned, thinking about the word. "Master?"

"It's what they call great painters in this language," he said matter-of-factly.

Natasha turned to try and see his expression up close. "I bet you just _love _that," she teased.

Loki grabbed her shoulders firmly and wrenched them back into place. "I didn't say you could move," he said between clenched teeth. "Come to think of it, I don't recall saying you could speak, either."

She opened her mouth to reply, but then snapped it shut audibly, shooting him a look in the mirror. He just chuckled. At last he undid the final button, and let the dress slip off of her. Reaching around to the front, he untied the waistband of the petticoat beneath it, and pushed that down over her hips as well, pulling her drawers down with it. She stood before him naked, marooned in a small mountain of fabric. Taking her hand, he pulled gently.

"Step out," he coaxed her, and she extracted one leg and then the other, using his hand for balance. He led her to the side of the bed, and then let go. He snatched one of the embroidered pillows off the pile and dropped it on the floor between them. "Kneel," he pointed to it.

She looked up at him, surprised.

"I said, _kneel_," he ground out.

Natasha dropped to her knees on the pillow quickly, staring at the ground.

"Good," leaning forward, he tilted her chin up so she would look at him again. "Now stay there." He stepped back, and then moved out of her sight. The lights in the room dimmed, and she watched in the mirrors as he slipped off his jacket and waistcoat, and stepped out of his shoes. He fiddled with his cufflinks a moment, and then sighed, coming to stand in front of her again, holding one out to her.

She reached up and undid it without further instruction. He gave her the other arm, and she repeated the action. He opened his palm, and she dropped the cufflinks into it. "Very good," he sounded genuinely pleased. Deftly unbuttoning the shirt, he slipped it off as well.

Natasha could see where this was going, and swallowed thickly as he began to unbutton his pants. A sly smile crept over his features as he read her expression. "Oh, yes. You're going to enjoy this, aren't you?"

She made a small, inarticulate sound as he pushed his pants off his hips, so that he, too, stood bare before her. He was already fully aroused - she guessed he had likely been since they were in the car - and his need was obvious, as it was right in front of her face.

"Now," he reached down and tilted her chin up, running the pad of his thumb across her lips, "open that beautiful mouth of yours, darling."

Her jaw dropped of its own accord, and licking her lips she complied willingly. He groaned at the sight, and taking hold of himself, slid just the tip in.

Natasha moaned, her eyes fluttering shut. Her hands twitched at her sides, with nothing to hang onto she felt wary of overbalancing.

"You can touch me, if you like," Loki was breathless, but amused.

She put her hands on the strong, solid columns of his legs, and ran them softly upward. He shivered in response, and she loved it. Without instruction, she drew him deeper into her mouth, swirling her tongue around him. He cursed, but not in protest, his hips twitching towards her reflexively.

Beginning slowly, she moved herself backwards and forwards, mimicking another action. Loki let go of himself in favor of burying his hands in her hair, encouraging her. She pushed herself to go deeper, allowing him to thrust into her mouth, making him curse fluidly.

"Stop," he breathed, so quiet she wasn't sure she heard right. All the same, she froze, and he pushed into her once more before pulling out with a shuddering breath. "Gods, you are exceptionally talented at that," he complimented her.

She licked her lips and looked up at him coyly. "You don't have to stop if you don't want to," she offered.

He chuckled breathlessly. "Oh, I know. And I won't, next time. But right now, I want you on your back, girl." He let go of her hair, and she rose stiffly from her knees, laying down on the silk sheets and staring up at the velvet sky and diamond stars.

Loki watched her with hooded eyes, taking his time. He walked around the bed, knelt across it, and picked up her nearest hand. He kissed the inside of her wrist, and then yanked her unexpectedly across the slick sheets, so she ended up in the middle of the expansive bed. Straddling her, he grabbed her other hand and placed them both above her head.

"Keep them there," he ordered. "If you move, I will tie you up," he threatened, "but I'll have to go find something to do it with." He chuckled when he saw her face fall. He bent to kiss her throat, and then the space between her breasts. Moving down her body, he spread her legs, pushing them open as far as they would go. He knelt between them, and his hands drifted towards her most sensitive place.

Natasha gasped as his fingers spread her there, too, exposing her to his eager gaze. She felt suddenly embarrassed, and had to resist the urge to press her legs together. He saw her twich, though, and smiled. "Your modesty always surprises me," he murmured. "It pleases me to know that there are still ways I can defile you." The way he said it sounded more like a benediction, and Natasha squirmed as he stroked and tugged and rubbed and pinched, watching all the while. His fingers quickly became slick, and he slipped one within her.

She pressed her lips together and tilted her hips the barest fraction. It was becoming more difficult to resist the urge to thrust up into his hand, especially when he began to move very slowly, in and out. He stilled her with his free hand, grasping her hip with his impossibly strong fingers. With a smirk, he bent down and touched his tongue to her center with the barest of pressures.

A whimper escaped her throat, and she screwed her eyes shut to keep it from becoming a moan.

"Shh," he whispered, the rush of his breath tickling her oversensitized skin. Then he began to tease her in earnest.

Just before Natasha thought she would explode with the tension of holding still, he suddenly stopped. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and struggled for air as he made his way back up her body. When his hips met hers, he tilted against her, but gently. He pressed again, barely any harder, pushing against her entrance. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to wrap her legs around him and draw him in.

Loki was not unaffected, however, his eyes fluttering shut as he thrusted again, this time pushing into her a bare inch. He continued in this way, giving her a little more each time, but it was never enough, and his pace was agonizingly slow. In an absent corner of her mind that was barely still functioning, she wondered how much more she could take.

"Just relax," he whispered against her ear. "Just feel me."

"Loki?" she asked, daring to speak.

He nuzzled her ear with his nose. "Yes?"

"Please... may I please touch you? I promise not to ruin it, I just need to feel you, please..." she begged softly.

He seemed to think about it a moment. "All right, but only because you asked so nicely," he teased.

Unclenching her hands from behind her head, Natasha ran them up the sides of his chest. His ribs no longer stood out the way they had before, sheathed instead in a lean layer of muscle. He gasped at the sensation, little bumps rising on his skin in the wake of her fingers. She ran them over the familiar pale scars on his chest, and then wrapped her arms around his neck, threading her fingers in his short-cropped hair.

Loki moaned at the feel of her nails on his scalp, and chuckled when she froze. "No, my darling, you're being very good," he reassured her. "I think you begin to see the point of this game."

She smiled a little and nodded. Closing her eyes, she let the sensation of Loki moving deep inside wash over her. Resisting the ever-urgent need for _more _and _now_, she just let it happen. At some point, Loki snaked an arm beneath her arched back, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She kept one hand buried in his hair, and with her other ran her fingernails lightly down his back. When he groaned and thrusted a little more sharply, she took a risk and did it again, harder.

"Ah, yes," he hissed, his control beginning to slip. "I'm not long for it, darling. I want you to come for me. Can you do that?" His words, murmured against her ear, were like sweet wine.

She tilted her hips up toward him in response, gasping as she felt herself draw near to the end. He shifted his grip on her, driving deeper and harder, and within moments she was overtaken. She clutched him tightly, her mouth falling open as she tried desperately not to cry out.

"_Ma cherie_, _yes_!" he cried, the feel of her clenching around him pushed him over the edge. They fell together, holding on as if for dear life. At last they collapsed, each out of breath.

Loki pushed a stray curl out of her eyes, kissing her repeatedly. "Oh, my love," he crooned, "You are the most perfect, beautiful, wondrous thing I have ever found in all my long years."

She laughed, flattered. "And you, _Maître..._" she teased. "I certainly have never had reason to doubt whether you are a god. You make me feel divine."

"Mmm," he agreed. "How I ever managed without you is a mystery. I could get used to hearing these things."

Natasha just chuckled again. "Oh, I'm fairly certain that you're self-confident enough to manage well enough without my flattery."

"But you're wrong, Natasha," he said, suddenly serious. He trailed a finger down the side of her face. "You call me a god when others, myself included, would name me a monster. You, who have seen my darker side and not flinched away. You cannot know what that means to me."

She smiled a little. "I can imagine. Where the rest of the world saw something to be used and then thrown away, you saw... I don't know what. Something more. A puzzle, at least."

He smirked, and turned onto his side, tucking her close against him. "Yes, that is what I saw at first. A delicious little puzzle just waiting to be cracked. But I never could solve you, and so you continue to fascinate me."

"Well, let's hope you never do, then," she kissed him.

"You're much more than that now, my sweet. I haven't the words for it, or rather nothing that hasn't been beaten to death beyond genuine meaning. But I haven't the slightest intention of ever letting you go. You are mine, and so you shall be forever."

Silently, Natasha wondered how long they really had. She didn't imagine Karnilla had granted her immortality as well as a second chance. But the thought of staying with Loki forever was intoxicating, and she sighed deeply, happy. They had plenty of time, either way, and there was no need to figure it out right that moment. Sleep began to tug at her, and Loki pulled up the covers, snuffing the lights with a wave of his hand. Above them, the diamond stars continued to twinkle, looking even more convincing in the darkness.

Suddenly, she wondered how many women had slept under these stars, wrapped in the arms of this man.

"Actually, I've never slept in this bed," he said out loud. "I think, in some part of me, I was waiting for you to come back."

Satisfied, she snuggled closer to him, and drifted off to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Natasha's life quickly settled into a new rhythm. She would wake late in the morning, and go down to the kitchen, where Loki's soft-spoken Russian cook would make her breakfast. Then she would go to the studio, where Loki would spend several hours working on her portrait while she read to him in French or Russian. Whenever she decided she was hungry, he would stop, and they would dress for dinner. The first week or so, he used his magic to provide her dresses, but he had ordered an entire new wardrobe for her when she had arrived, and once it was delivered she was forced to dress more conventionally. This usually required Loki's assistance, as she was unfamiliar with the trappings of modern fashion. This in turn often led to them being distracted, and then quite late for dinner, until he decided that Natasha should probably have a maid to help her with such things.

In the evening, they would go out to restaurants and parties, Loki mixing easily with artists, businessmen, politicians, and their women - almost never their wives, Natasha noticed. Every night, it was another whirlwind of introductions and dances, alcohol and other substances abounding at every turn. Loki studiously avoided intoxicants, and Natasha eagerly followed his lead. The glitz and glamour of it all was enough to make her drunk as it was.

She was unaccustomed to such luxury - a cook, a maid, a whole room full of new dresses - and the feeling that she was dreaming persisted. As her new life began to sink in, her old one felt less and less real. Natasha began to wonder if her past had been the dream, and she had always lived like this, caught up in the magic of Loki and his world. But there were occasional reminders of their mutual past, such as the elevator.

Natasha had noticed from the start that Loki never used the elevator, choosing instead to climb the four flights of stairs tucked discreetly behind the door next to it. She didn't mind, she was young and strong, and she didn't really like the elevator either. But she was curious. One day, while he was painting, he complained that it took far too long to go up and down the stairs for trifles.

"Why do you never take the elevator?" she wondered aloud.

Loki visibly shuddered. "I despise it. It reminds me too much of... of before," he said darkly.

She shivered too, remembering. "I thought the same thing when I first saw it," she admitted. "Sometimes I wonder if it really all happened, _n'est pas_?"

He quickly changed the topic of conversation, and she let it go.

* * *

As her portrait neared completion, Natasha's sittings became less enjoyable. Now she was required to hold still, and not talk, and her arm became very tired from holding the pose every day. Loki painted less and less, and spent more time staring between her and the painting than anything else. She remained patient, although she did occasionally move just to irritate him, smiling when she thought how she had come to be like his previous model.

The fourth time she did this, Loki closed his eyes for a long moment. Then he set down his paintbrush, went to the front door, locked it, and walked calmly back to her. He did not stop as he reached her, but placed his hand on the top of the overstuffed chair and tipped it back steeply, making her clutch at the arms.

"Why do you antagonize me?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Natasha was speechless, staring up into his intense scrutiny. How could she tell him what she wanted? How could she explain how she craved his anger, his punishment?

A look of surprise broke Loki's expression, and then he gave a wicked grin. With his free hand, he wound her hair around his fingers, pulling back and forcing her to expose her throat. "I know what you want," he murmured. "And I will give it to you..."

She moaned as he tightened his grip, her eyes sliding shut.

"..._if,_" he stipulated, making her open her eyes again, "you _swear _to me that you shall not move again," he emphasized his words with a tug on her hair.

She tried to nod, but he shook his head. "Promise me," he said.

"I promise I won't move again," she gasped quickly.

"Very good," Loki crooned, and then he took her, there on the floor of the studio. Afterwards, he rearranged her hair, set the chair back where it belonged, and went right back to painting. Natasha trembled as she tried to hold stock-still.

* * *

At last, one sunny afternoon, Loki put down his paintbrush and sighed. "All right," he said resolutely, "come see."

Natasha instantly perked up. He had not let her look at the canvas for some time, claiming that he didn't want her to see it before it was ready. She stood, stretching, and walked to stand beside him. She looked at the canvas, and blinked rapidly. Although much of the painting was done in bold, sharp strokes, her face, hands, shoulders and neck were all rendered as smooth as polished marble. The effect was startling - he had captured her likeness exactly, and it seemed to leap from the less tangible surroundings.

"What do you think?" he asked, sounding as if she had already said she hated it.

"It's... unbelievable. I've never seen anything like it," she laughed. "Well, except in the mirror!"

He continued to stare darkly at the painting and sighed, but the barest ghost of a smile could be seen on his lips. "It's all right. I'll varnish it, and put it away. Sometimes when I find a painting later, I like it better."

"You don't like it?" she asked, shocked.

Loki opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again when there was a knock on the door. He turned and went to answer it. They frequently had visitors to the studio - friends, delivery boys, courageous fans - and Natasha found herself wondering who it might be this time.

Upon opening the door, Loki froze, cursed softly, and then pulled the bedraggled figure that stood before him into the room, closing the door behind her. "Sybil," he said, shocked. "What are you doing here? Do you need money again?" He seemed torn between concern and anger at her appearance.

Sybil, for her part, stared openly at Loki with rapture. She was dressed in a worn-out party gown, and her hair - an unnatural shade of red with blonde roots beginning to show - needed washing. She sported a faded bruise high on one cheek and a rash of scratches all down one arm. Natasha thought she looked familiar, but couldn't place where she had seen her. The girl seemed to drink in the sight of Loki for a minute and then looked around the room, stopping abruptly at Natasha.

Her expression shattered, and she looked suddenly heartbroken. "Oh, no, Lucas," she sobbed. "Lori said you'd found her but I said it can't be true!"

Loki muttered some disparaging comment about Lori's lack of sense, and shook Sybil gently. "Sybil, listen to me. Are you alright? When was the last time you ate?"

The girl seemed to think about this for a long moment, and finally shook her head. "I don't understand, _Maître_, you said she died, a long, long time ago" she continued to stare at Natasha as if she were looking at a ghost. "How can it be that she has stolen you away?" Tears streamed down her face, leaving clean tracks in the smudges there.

He cursed again, and dug out his wallet. He fished out some money, and this was more than sufficient to distract Sybil. She grasped for the slips of paper, but he held them out of her reach.

"Swear to me that you will not use this money to buy more opium," he said, and there was a force behind his words.

Sybil looked as if she wanted to protest, but then her face lit up, "I swear to you that I will not use this money to buy any drug," she proclaimed.

"Very good," he lowered his hand, and she snatched the bills, nearly tearing them. "Go to Monsieur Gavroche's, yes? He will take good care of you."

She seemed to pay little attention, counting the money carefully. She looked up at him, smiling beatifically, and then turned to Natasha, her expression strange and not quite sane. She nodded slowly once, and then scurried out the door.

Loki sighed heavily, and flopped into one of the overstuffed chairs, coming to rest in a pose typical of him, slouched with legs spread wide.

"What was that all about?" Natasha asked softly, unable to contain her curiosity.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head a little. "One of my more foolish mistakes," he said.

She came to stand between his legs, and he pulled her down to sit on his lap. "Sybil was my model before Lori. I worked with her for a long time. Before me, she worked for Ivan Bilibin."

Natasha's face lit up. "That's where I recognize her! She's Vasilisa the Beautiful. Or she was..."

"Exactly. He introduced us. At the time, she had a serious problem... she was terribly addicted to opium. I had seen in China what it could do to a person, making them care nothing for anything except the dreams they found in the wisps of smoke. I took her in, and provided for her every need, food, clothing, and yes, opium. I thought I could wean her off of it, give her a little less every time. I was a fool for thinking she wouldn't notice." He sighed again.

She stared down at him, thinking. "Did you sleep with her?" she asked, sensing the missing piece.

He looked back up at her for a long minute. "Yes," he admitted at last. When she sighed, he took her hands in his. "I didn't know, Natasha. I thought you were dead, long, long ago, like she said."

She shook her head. "It's not that I'm jealous," she protested, although with a twinge she realized that wasn't entirely true, "I just can't believe you took advantage of her like that. And you told her about me?" he nodded. "Before or after you slept with her?"

He pressed his lips together a moment, thinking. "Both. She dyed her hair, you know. She wanted so badly to be you. Sometimes, it was almost easy to imagine..."

Natasha stood, walking over towards her portrait. A maelstrom of unfamiliar and unpleasant emotions swirled within her. She realized, in part, that he had done it because he had missed her so desperately. But that he had done it at all, that he had tried to _replace _her, to make some poor girl try to change herself into something she was not, was vaguely horrific.

"I never said I was anything but a monster," Loki said sadly. "It was only you who ever saw something more to me." He stood, coming to stand behind her, close but not touching.

"Does she know? What you are?" she whispered in Russian.

"No," Loki answered in French. "And even if she did, who would believe the rantings of a half-crazed addict?"

Natasha whirled around, shock and anger written clear on her face. "How could you? How could you treat her like that?"

He looked surprised, and then uncomfortable. At last he looked away, at the door through which Sybil had gone. "I never thought of it that way."

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked, folding her arms.

Loki gave her a look of confusion.

"You are responsible for her. Or you should be," she explained.

He ran a hand through his hair. "She's probably long gone, Natasha. She can't spend that money on drugs, so it will last her weeks, maybe months. If we ever see her again, it won't be soon. But..." he took hold of her shoulders, rubbing his thumbs back and forth gently. "If it makes you feel better, I'll talk to Ivan and Lori, see if they can get her somewhere safe, find someone to look out for her. Unless you want her to come back here?" he asked sarcastically.

She glared at him. "That woman hates me, and no surprise. She'd probably kill me in my sleep."

He grinned. "Well we can't have that, can we?" When she was not mollified, his face fell. "Please forgive me," he begged. "In my misery, I did a cruel and foolish thing. You are my compass in a storm, Natasha. Your love is the guiding star by which I steer myself. Without you I am lost, adrift."

She sighed. If he hadn't sounded so sincere, she would have accused him of trying to flatter her out of being angry. Either way, it was working. "Alright, I forgive you," she said grudgingly, and wrapped her arms around him. "Any other mistakes I should know about, to avoid surprises?"

Loki smiled wryly. "Not within the last century, anyway."

"You're terrible," she chided, but without any seriousness. It was hard to stay angry at him when he made her so happy.

His smile softened. "Yes," he agreed, and kissed her.

Natasha wondered, for a moment, if he would whisk her off to the mirrored room again. But he released her after a moment, and looked back to the painting.

"Do you want to varnish it now?" she asked, slightly teasing.

He chuckled. "Yes, but it needs to dry for a while before I do that," he explained. "Go upstairs and change, let's go celebrate," he ordered.

She raised an eyebrow. "It's not even two o'clock," she protested.

"Did you know that this world is round, and turns around to make it night and day?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes," she huffed. She had been a little surprised to discover that it was common knowledge that the world was not flat.

"That means that right now, somewhere on this earth, it is currently midnight," he pointed out.

She frowned. "But not here."

He made an eloquent gesture. "The universe is an unimaginably immense place, my dear. The distance between us and the night is infinitesimal in the larger scheme of things."

She just shook her head. "If you say so. I think you just want an excuse to party."

Loki smiled. "Perhaps I just want an excuse to see you in another one of those beautiful dresses I bought you that much sooner," he said lasciviously.

"Right," she drawled. "So that you can strip me out of it that much sooner, more like."

He shrugged, unfazed. "All the same..."

She laughed and left to find her maid. She knew just what to wear. There was a green dress she had yet to try on. It was not quite fancy enough for their nightly parties, but would be perfect for this afternoon...


	22. Chapter 22

Loki took her to the nicest of the restaurants he frequented, and ordered a veritable feast. He also ordered champagne, the first she had ever seen him drink. It fizzled on her tongue and rather went to her head. She was more adventurous in the car on the way home than she had been before, and was somewhat put out when Jacques pulled up in front of their building. Loki just grinned, not letting go of her hand as he exited the car. She nearly stumbled as she got out, and he caught her, laughing.

Natasha laughed too, and was suddenly struck by how happy she was. It was night by now, and she threw her head back, looking for the few brave stars who pierced through the light and smog of the city. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Oh, but I haven't even started," Loki murmured teasingly, misinterpreting her gratitude. She just laughed, and followed him inside and up the stairs. When he reached his door, he was surprised to find that the key turned without resistance. "Sophie must have forgotten to lock up again," he said darkly.

"Oh go easy on her," Natasha said gently. She liked her maid - she didn't want to have to get another.

He opened the door and stepped through, closing it behind her, putting his hands against the wood and trapping her. He leaned down to kiss her, but froze when he heard a distinctive click behind him. "Don't move," he whispered. Natasha barely nodded, and he turned, very slowly, to find Sybil pointing a gun at him. It gleamed dully in the low lamplight, and shook as her hand trembled.

"You said I couldn't spend it on drugs," she said, her voice high and slightly hysterical. "You never said what else I couldn't spend it on."

"Sybil," Loki said softly, holding his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "You don't want to do this. What good could possibly come of this?"

From behind him, Natasha could see Sybil shake her head vigorously. "I'm setting things _right_," she said resolutely. "I'm making them the way they're supposed to be. She's supposed to be _dead_, and you're supposed to be _mine_."

"If you shoot her," Loki said evenly, "you will go to jail. The police will come and take you away, and you will never see me again," he explained, as if he were telling a child they would be punished for bad behavior.

Now Sybil looked confused. "You wouldn't let them," she said, but she didn't sound very confident. It was almost a question.

"There's nothing I could do to stop them," he said regretfully. He took a careful step forward, and shifted her grip on the gun. "Give me the gun, Sybil, and we can work this all out."

She shook her head again. "You won't leave her," she laughed. "You told me so! You told me that you never should have left her before, and that if you had the chance to do it all over, you never would again!"

Loki closed his eyes. Natasha was right. He should never have said those things to her. He opened his eyes again. "I might," he said, sounding very convincing. "That was all a very long time ago, and things aren't really like I remembered."

From where she stood, still frozen against the door, Natasha felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was lying. But he was so damn convincing it threw her for a moment. As she watched, Sybil tore her gaze away from Loki's hypnotic charm, and looked her straight in the eye.

"Sybil, give me the gun, and we can talk about this like civil people," he said more forcefully, sensing that he was losing her. He reached out for the gun cautiously, thinking to snatch it from her fingers while she was distracted.

"No," Sybil said quietly, and fired the gun.

Three things happened almost simultaneously:

Loki grabbed for the gun, succeeding only in getting his hand shot clean through, and he doubled over in pain.

The gun nearly jumped out of Sybil's hand, and she screamed, seeing that she had shot Loki.

Natasha flinched.

Loki looked up at Sybil, rage written clear on his face. Sybil's eyes widened, and she dropped the gun, turning to run for the fire escape. He made to follow, but froze as Natasha made a sound behind him.

He turned, and watched, horrified, as she slid down the door, leaving behind her a smear of red. Her eyes remained open, and they held a question she did not ask.

"No," he breathed, and rushed to her side, moving so quickly he seemed to appear beside her. He took her in his arms. The bullet wound seemed so small, an inconsequential stain on the front of her dress. But his hands found the mess of her back, her blood overwhelming his own. "No, no, no," he shook his head, his voice rising in volume.

Natasha closed her eyes a moment, and grimaced. It hurt so badly, and yet she only half-felt it. "It's alright," she said softly. "She's right, I'm supposed to be dead. I was lucky to have more time with you at all."

"Shhh," he shifted his hold on her, trying to avoid the wound on her back. "I'll get a doctor, they have doctors now who can do anything," he said maniacally.

She just smiled. "No, Loki. No one can stop this," she drew breath, and there was an ugly rattle in her chest. She coughed, and a fleck of red appeared on her lips. "I should have known it was too good to be true," she laughed softly, but quickly began coughing.

"No, it's all my fault," he said miserably. "I never should have left you with that cretin," he spat, but paused when he saw the look of pain and regret on her face.

"I'm afraid Clint suffered the most for all of this," she said, her voice growing quiet. "I think he really did love me."

"Not like I love you," Loki said fiercely.

She smiled. "No. And that is why I only loved you, Loki."

He kissed her, tasting the blood on her lips, holding her too tightly. He felt her sigh, going on far too long, and pulled back to see that the light had gone out of her eyes.

It was as if the world shattered around him. _No surprise_, he thought in some distant, quiet corner of his mind, _she _was_ my world_. He felt every shield, every magical protection he had layered over the centuries, crumble under the force of his rage and grief. Objects in the room began to lift and spin, orbiting the portrait which sat, still unvarnished, watching with unseeing eyes. They began to crash into each other, as Loki buried his face in the curve of Natasha's neck.

Suddenly, everything stilled, before dropping to the floor. Loki's head shot up, and he turned to see two figures, knowing instantly that they were responsible. "_You_," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "I should have known it was _you_! You always had to spoil my happiness! To take what was rightfully mine!" his voice rose to a pitch that was not quite sane.

The object of his hatred stared back, uncomprehending, but Karnilla beside him shook her head. "No, 'twas I, Loki Laufeyson. Thor knew not how it would end."

Thor looked from Karnilla to the unmoving body in Loki's arms, to the smear of blood on the door. "Odin's beard, _no_," he said, voice full of compassion and grief.

"I told you there would be a price," Karnilla said, her voice devoid of emotion.

"Yes, but," Thor looked to Loki, crestfallen, "I never imagined that you should pay it, I swear to you!"

"There is always a price," Loki sneered, "But you were too thick to think that _she_ might have to pay it. Tell me, what was it you hoped to accomplish, that you paid so little heed to the consequences?" He stood slowly, Natasha's body dangling in his arms, still dripping blood on the floor.

"I wanted..." Thor swallowed, "to bring you home, brother. I wanted you to find salvation in love and happiness."

"Well I had love and happiness, but now she is gone, forever taken from me, and you are to blame!" he shouted. If his hands had not been full of their burden, they might have found themselves around the blond god's thick neck.

Karnilla held up a hand, stilling the brothers. "There is a way to change this outcome," she said temptingly.

Thor turned, surprised, but Loki merely stared. "This is what you wanted all along, isn't it? A chance to rewrite history to suit your needs."

"Not history," Karnilla said, and her voice resonated with magic. "The future." All around them, the room faded away, and they were left standing in an endless expanse of stars. Behind Karnilla stretched an endless tapestry, going on out of sight in either direction. "This is the future of this realm," she gestured to the weaving, and Loki saw a bright green thread that ran through it, his own. Every thread it touched turned black, until almost all of the cloth was black. There were patches of color here and there, but they were always quickly overpowered by darkness.

"I caused this?" Loki sounded vaguely horrified.

"Not directly," she conceded, "But your attempts to hide yourself from us had consequences. As you said, there is always a price."

"And what would you do, to change it?" Thor asked, frowning and crossing his arms.

Karnilla gestured, and the tapestry rearranged itself. Loki's thread, and a gold thread he guessed to be Thor's, were lifted off the fabric and moved to the right, towards the future. "If I delay your birth by a thousand years, your destiny aligns more profitably with those of others. Here," she pointed to a spot where the two threads crossed, as well as crossing those of others, red and gold, blue white and red, and green and a purple twisted together, and a host of other colors. The confluence caused a rippling pattern that affected the fabric throughout, although for better or worse was unclear. "It is essential that this happens, for the sake of this realm and others."

"What happens?" Thor asked.

"That I cannot tell you," she said mysteriously.

"Then why show us?" he said, frustrated.

"She needs my consent," Loki guessed accurately. "But I have yet to be moved."

Karnilla nodded, and held out her hands. Natasha's body floated up out of his arms, and dissolved, coalescing into a single red and black thread. It floated towards the tapestry until it glowed against it, stretched out far beyond its normal length by Karnilla's previous spell. She grasped the thread and pulled, lifting it from the pattern. Another came along with it, a strong mauve thread tangled with hers, and Loki recognized it immediately.

"Leave him behind," he insisted.

"He is her salvation," she explained. "I cannot change her destiny any more than I have already. She will still be born into unfortunate circumstances, and used by those around her. He will bring her out of darkness, and teach her to love. Would you deny her that?"

He ground his teeth together. "No." He watched as she lifted the thread, moving it later. Now her thread and the archer's ran through the confluence. The mauve was temporarily turned black where it touched his, he was happy to see, but the effect of _her_ influence was marvelous. Suddenly, where before there had been a snarl, now there was an organized and tightly-bound knot. The echoing patterns were clearer, more obviously positive. Best of all, he saw that afterwards her thread ran alongside his for the few centuries he could see beyond.

His mouth went dry. "What is the price?"

"Your memories," she said without hesitation. "You will have no recollection of any of this, nor will any living creature. Your actions will remain, but they will be attributed to others. You will repeat the same mistakes. You will cause her pain, and she will hate you for it, for a while. You will meet as enemies, first."

"But in the end..." he stared on down the line of the two threads, green and red and black.

"Yes," she agreed.

"Do I get any say in this?" Thor spoke up.

"No," Karnilla and Loki said simultaneously.

He shook his head and stared at his feet, muttering at what an idiot he had been.

Loki continued to stare at the tapestry. What did he stand to lose? Memories that would haunt him forever? A future he unwittingly corrupted? "I consent," he said at last.

Karnilla smiled. "Then let it be done." She lifted her hands, and all around them the stars began to shift. The tapestry solidified, then faded. Loki felt himself floating, and then he felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from him. Then, he knew only blackness.

* * *

Pain. Cold. Hunger. Fear. These were the sum of his existence. He cried out, and no one heard. He felt hands upon his tiny form, warm strong hands, and opened his eyes to see a face, one eye a mangled mess of a wound. Warmth suffused his body, and he stopped crying, curiosity coming into him.

"I shall call you Loki," the man said in a gruff but gentle voice. "And I shall raise you as my son..."

THE END

* * *

_**A/N: **Ok, first of all, pleeeeeeease don't kill me. I know a lot of you were rooting for a happy ending, but it just wasn't in the cards. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to tie this into the Avengers movie, as well as Anima Complex. I faithfully followed the classic tragedy pattern: things suck, things get better, then things get worse, then things are wonderful, then everything goes to hell. I hope you all don't hate me now that you know the end._

_That said, if you _are _looking for more of a happy-ending-type-story, I highly recommend Anima Complex, my other story. It's still fairly dark, but things are more likely to work out well. As an added bonus, I have sprinkled references between the two stories throughout. Most of them are subtle, but the next chapter I post on Anima Complex, chapter 68, will be pretty obvious about it. _

_As always, I enjoy your reviews immensely. Even though this story is done, if you leave a thoughtful review (and you're signed in) I will usually respond. It's been a hell of a ride, and I am both happy and sad to have finally finished this. Thank you all, so much, for all your support._


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